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L05DOXt    PRnmCD    BT 

STOTTISWOOUB    AXO    00.,    KKW-8Ttt«KT   fiQUABB 

AXD    rAnLIAXB5T    BTttJeSX 




NEW  8ERIE8.    VOL   VII. 

JANUARY      TO      JUNE     1873 










New  Skmes.  JANUARY  1873.  Vol,  VII.— No.  XXXVII. 




HALL,  NEW  YORK.— Bt  J.  A.  Froudb 1 

NEW  EDITION  OF  THE  PASTON  LETTERS.— Bt  L.  Toulmik  Smith...  22 

A  VlJSrr  TO  SHAMYL'S  country  in  the  autumn  of  1870.— By 

Edwss  RAifsoM,  F.R.G.S 27 

SOICE  curiosities  of  criticism , 43 


OF  ALIENATION.— By  A.  K.  H.  B 67 

BTtAlfRT.T!BERRrRa 74 

SHAFTESBURi^S  CHABACTi:RISTIC8.---Bii  Lbslib  Stkphmn --94 

A  SKETCH  OF  M.  THIERS  "76^ 

ON  PRISONS.— By  thb  Right  Hon.  Sib  Walter  Ceofton,  C.B 101 


HEREDITARY  IMPROVEMENT.— By  FfiANas  Galton,  F.R.S 116 






EMPIRE  OR  NO  EMPIRE  ?— By  a  Colonist. 


DEMONOLOGY.— III.  IV.— By  M.  D.  Contvay. 

SIX  WEEKS  IN  NORTH  AND  SOUTH  TYROL.    (With  a  Map.)— By  Wiluam 
Longman,  F.G.S. 



MUNITY.—By  A.  K.  H.  B. 
DOMESTIC  SANITARY  ARRANGEMENTS.— By  Robert  Rawltnson,  C.E.  O.B. 
BEHIND  THE  SCENES  AT  THE  COMMUNE.— By  Genihal  Cltoehet. 


Correspondents  are  desired  to  observe  that  all  Communications  must  he 
addressed  direct  to  the  Editor. 

Bejecied  Conirtbutiom  carmot  he  returned. 


JANUAKY   1873. 


LADIES  AND  Gentlemen  :  If  my 
object  in  coming  to  this  conntrj 
was  to  draw  attention  to  the  Irish 
snbject,  I  may  so  far  be  said  to  have 
succeeded.  I  have  sncceeded  also, 
beyond  my  expectation,  in  eliciting 
a  counter-statement  containing  the 
opinions  of  the  Irish  people  them- 
selves on  their  past  history,  the 
most  complete,  the  most  symmetri- 
cal, tbe  most  thoroughgoing  which 
has  yet  been  given  to  the  world. 

The  successive  positions  taken  by 
Father  Burke  have  been  long  fami- 
liar to  me,  some  in  one  book  and 
some  in  another.  But  nowhere 
have  so  many  of  them  been  com- 
bined so  artistically,  and  not  till 
DOW  have  they  been  presented  in 
what  may  be  called  an  authorita- 
tive form.  Father  Burke  regrets 
that  I  shonld  have  obliged  him  to 
reopen  wounds  which  he  would 
have  preferred  to  have  left  closed. 
I  conceive,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
a  wound  is  never  healed  so  long  as 
there  is  misunderstanding.  Eng- 
land  and  Ireland  can  approach  each 
other  only  on  the  basis  of  truth,  and 
so  long  as  Irish  children  are  fed 
^ith  the  story  which  Father  Burke 
has  80  eloquently  told,  so  long  they 
mast  regard  England  with  eyes  of 
utter  detestation,  until  full  atone- 
ment be  made  for  past  wrongs.  If 
Father  Burke's  account  is  true,  let 
England  know  it,  look  it  in  the  face, 
and  acknowledge  it.  If  it  be  an 
illusion,  or  tissue  of  illusions,  then 


it  is  equally  desirable  that  the  Irish 
should  know  it,  and  a  bridge  of 
solid  fact  be  laid  across  the  gulf 
that  divides  us. 

A  subject  of  this  kind  can  only 
usefully  be  treated  from  the  plat- 
form if  the  audience  will  bear  their 
share  of  the  burden,  if  they  will 
test  by  reference  what  they  hear, 
compare  evidence,  and  analyse  it. 
You  will  learn  more  from  the  books 
to  which  I  shall  refer  you  than  you 
can  learn  from  me  in  the  time  for 
which  I  shall  address  you.  I  shall 
myself  venture  to  indicate  the  par- 
ticulars where  Father  Burke's  nar- 
ration specially  needs  examination, 
and  refer  you  to  authorities.  That 
an  Irishman's  view  should  be  dif- 
ferent from  an  Englishman's  view 
is  natural  and  inevitable ;  but  the 
difference  must  be  limited  by  facts, 
which  are  easily  ascertainable. 
When  they  are  not  ascertainable 
elsewhere,  as,  for  instance,  when 
Father  Burke  attributes  words  to 
me  which  I  never  uttered,  I  shall 
venture  to  speak  with  authority. 

I  must  throw  off*  with  a  point  of 
this  kind.  The  Father  says  I  have 
come  to  America  to  ask  for  the 
extraordinary  verdict  that  England 
has  been  right  in  the  manner  in 
which  she  has  treated  Ireland  for 
700  years.  Considering  that  I  have 
drawn  a  heavier  indictment  against 
England  in  the  course  of  my  lec- 
tures than  she  will  probably  thank 
me   for,   considering  that   I  have 

B  2 

Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


described  the  history  of  her  con- 
nection with  Ireland  from  the  be- 
ginning as  a  scandal  and  reproach 
to  her,  I  mnst  meet  this  assertion 
with  a  simple  denial. 

No  one  who  knows  Ireland  now 
can  be  satisfied  with  its  present 
condition.  There  is  an  agitation 
for  a  separate  Irish  Parliament, 
which  it  was  supposed  that  public 
sentiment  in  America  generally  ap- 
proved. I  think,  for  myself,  that 
there  are  certain  definite  measures 
for  Ireland's  good  which  she  could 
obtain  more  easily  from  the  United 
Parliament  than  she  bould  obtain 
them  from  her  own.  I  wished  to 
show  that  s]ie  had  less  cause  than 
she  supposed  for  the  animosity 
which  she  entertained  against  Eng- 
land, ill  as  England  had  behaved  to 
her ;  and  I  have  said  what  I  had  to 
say  here  in  the  form  of  lectures, 
beicause  it  was  the  most  likely  way 
to  attract  attention. 

Father  Burke  goes  on  to  suggest 
that  England  is  a  decaying  empire, 
that  her  power  is  broken,  her  arm 
grown  feeble,  the  days  of  Ma- 
caulay's  *New  Zealander'  not  far 
off,  that  England  is  afraid  of  the 
growing  strength  of  the  Irish  in 
the  United  States,  the  eight  millions 
of  them  who  have  come  from  the 
old  country,  and  the  fourteen  mil- 
lions of  Irish  descent.  It  is  scarcely 
becoming  for  two  British  subjects 
to  be  discussing  in  this  country 
whether  Great  Britain  is  in  a  state 
of  decadence.  England  is  afraid, 
however,  and  deeply  afraid.  She 
is  afraid  of  being  even  driven  to  use 
again  those   measures  of  coercion 

against  Ireland,  which  have  been 
the  shame  of  her  history.  Bat 
Father  Burke's  figures,  I  confess, 
startled  me.  Of  the  forty- two  mil- 
lions of  American  citizens,  twenty- 
two  millions  were  either  Irish  bom 
or  of  Irish  descent.  Was  this  pos- 
sible ?  I  referred  to  the  census  of 
1870,  and  I  was  still  more  con- 
founded. The  entire  number  of 
immig^nt  foreigners,  who  were 
then  in  the  United  States,  amounted 
to  5,556,566.  Of  these,  under  two 
millions  were  Irish.  The  entire 
number  of  children  bom  of  Irish 
parents  was  under  two  millions  also. 

Add  half  a  milhon  for  children 
of  the  second  generation,  and  from 
these  figures  it  follows,  if  Father 
Burke  is  correct,  that  in  the  two 
last  years  there  must  have  come 
from  Ireland  no  less  than  6,000,000 
persons,  or  more  than  the  entire 
population  of  the  island,  and  that 
in  the  same  two  years  the  Irish 
mothers  mnst  have  produced  not 
fewer  than  11,500,000  infants.  I 
knew  that  their  fertility  was  re- 
markable, but  I  was  not  prepared 
for  such  an  astounding  illustration 

Still  speculating  on  my  motives. 
Father  Burke  inclines  on  the  whole 
to  give  me  credit  for  patriotism. 
He  thinks  I  have  come  to  speak 
for  my  own  country,  and  he  is  good 
enough  to  praise  me  for  doing  so. 
I  am  grateful  for  the  compliment, 
but  I  cannot  accept  it.  I  have 
come  not  to  speak  for  my  country, 
but  for  his.  I  believe  that  the 
present  agitation  there  is  likely  to 
avert  indefinitely  the   progress  of 

*  Father  Barke  probably  meant  that  there  were  14  millions  of  Irish  altogether  in  the 
United  States.  Even  so,  his  estimate  is  wildly  exaggerated ;  I  assume  that  he  was  not 
speaking  of  the  Anglo-Irish  or  Scotch-Irish,  but  of  the  Irish  proper.  Of  these  there 
were  in  America  in  1870,  of  natives  of  Ireland,  1,855,779,  of  children  of  Irish  parents 
bom  in  America,  1,389,433. 

The  children  of  mixed  marriages  are  not  properly  Irish,  nor  are  mixed  marriages 
common  among  the  Irish  ;  but  construing  the  phrase  Irish  descent  widely,  and  allowing 
the  same  proportion  to  them  as  to  other  foreigners,  there  were  in  1870  of  children,  one 
of  whose  parents  was  Irish,  385,723. 

Thus  of  natives  of  Ireland  and  of  children  in  the  first  generation,  there  were  in  all 
3)630,935.     It  is  difficult  to  arrive  at  the  number  of  Irish  children  of  the  second  gene- 


Address  mi  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 

improrementy  that  the  best  chance 
for  iJie  Irish  people  is  to  stand  by 
the  English  people  and  demand  an 
alteration  of  the  land  laws.  I  wish 
to  see  them  tnm  their  energies 
from  the  specnlative  to  the  prac- 

But  Father  Burke  considers  me 
unfit  to  speak  npon  this  subject, 
aod  for  three  reasons : 

First,  because  I  despise  the  Irish 
people.  I  despise  them,  do  I  ? 
Then  why  have  I  made  Ireland  mj 
second  home  ?  Why  am  I  here 
now?  Am  I  finding  my  under- 
taking such  a  pleasant  one  ?  I  say 
that  for  yaiious  reasons  I  have  a 
peculiar  and  exceptional  respect 
and  esteem  for  the  Irish  people  ;  I 
mean  for  the  worthy  part  of  them, 
the  peasantry,  and  according  to  my 
lights  I  am  endeavouring  to  serve 
them.  I  say,  the  peasantry.  For 
Irish  demagoprues  and  political  agi- 
tators,— well,  for  them,  yes,  I  confess 
I  do  feel  contempt  from  the  bottom 
of  my  soul.  I  rejoice  that  Father 
Borke  has  disclaimed  all  connection 
with  them.  Of  all  the  curses  which 
have  afflicted  Ireland,  the  dema- 
gogues have  been  the  greatest. 

Bat  I  am  unfit  for  another  reason. 
I  have  been  convicted,  by  a  citizen 
of  Brooklyn,  of  inserting  words  of 
my  own  in  letters  and  docaments 
of  State.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I 
have  not  been  convicted  by  the 
citizen  of  Brooklyn,  but  I  have 
given  the  citizen  of  Brooklyn  an 
opportunity  of  convicting  me  if  I 
am  guilty.  He  has  not  been  pleased 
to  avail  himself  of  it.  He  calls  my 
proposal,  I  know   not  why,  falla- 

cious.   He  enquires  why  I  will  not 
reply  directly  to  his  own  allegations. 
I  answer  first,  that  I  cannot,  for  I 
am  on  one  side  of  the  Atlantic  and 
my  books  and  papers  are  on  the 
other.     I  answer  secondly,  that  if  I 
reply  to  him  I  must  reply  to  fifty 
others.      I  answer  thirdly,  that  I 
have  found  by  experience  that  con- 
troversies between  parties  interested 
in  such  disputes,  lead  to  no  conclu- 
sion.    At  this  moment  I  am  sup- 
posed to  be  calumniating  the  Irish 
Catholics.     Two  or  three  years  ago 
I  was  in  trouble  in  England  on  pre 
cisely  opposite  ground.     I  had  dis 
covered  a  document  which  I  con- 
ceived to  reKeve  the  Catholic  hier- 
archy of  Ireland   of  a  charge   of 
subserviency  to  Queen  Elizabeth, 
which  had  long  attached  to  them. 
I   had    discovered    another,    from 
which  I  published  extracts,  expos- 
ing an  act  of  extreme  cruelty  per- 
petrated in  the  North  of  Ireland  by- 
one  of  Elizabeth's  oflBcers.     Both 
these  papers  I  had  reason  to  know 
were    extremely  welcome    to    the 
Irish  Catholic  Prelates.     They  were 
no  less  unwelcome  to  Protestants. 
I  was   violently   attacked,  and   I 
replied.       The     documents     were 
looked  into,  up  and  down,  but  with- 
out producing  conviction  on  either 
side.     I,  after  the  most  careful  con- 
sideration, was  unable  to  withdraw 
what   I  had  written.     The    Tory 
journals    continued,    and   perhaps 
continue,  to  charge  me  with  mis- 
representation, and  speak  of  me  as 
a  person  whose  good  faith  is  not  to 
be  depended  on. 

I  determined  that  from  that  time 

lation  born  id  the  United  States.  They  must  be  the  descendants  of  those  who  have 
be«n  saffidently  long  here  to  allow  their  children  to  be  bom,  to  grow  to  maturity  and 
become  parents.  None  of  the  immigrants  arriving  since  1850  can  be  included  in  this 
c^;  the  arrival  of  the  native  Irish  was  inconsiderable  before  1S47,  ^^^  ^^  ^^S^  ^o 
entile  number  of  Irish  who  had  arrived  in  the  United  States  amounted  only  to  908,945. 
'Hie  modality  among  the  Irish,  whether  as  children  or  adults,  is  in  advance  of  any  other 
put  of  the  population. 

The  most  extravagant  conjecture  will  not  venture,  therefore,  to  add  more  than 
^,000  for  the  number  of  Irish  children  whose  parents  were  bom  in  this  country. 
Thoee  who  have  best  means  of  judging,  estimate  the  entire  Irish  race  now  in  America  at 
hetween  four  and  five  millions. 

Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


I  would  never  place  myself  in  such 
a  position  again. 

'Tih  dangerous,  when  the  baser  nature  falls 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensM  points 
Of  mighty  opposites. 

I  hope  I  am  not,  strictly  speak- 
ing, the  baser  nature.  But  it  has 
been  my  fortune  ever  since  I  began 
to  write  on  these  subjects  to  feel 
the  pricks  of  the  opposing  lances, 
and  I  shall  continue  to  feel  them  as 
long  as  I  toll  the  truth.  My  History 
ofEnglajul  has  been  composed  from, 
perhaps,  two  hundred  thousand 
documents,  nine- tenths  of  them  in 
difficult  MS.,  and  in  half-a-dozen 
languages.  I  have  been  unable  to 
trust  printed  copies,  for  the  MSS. 
often  tell  stories  which  the  printed 
versions  leave  concealed.  I  have 
been  unable  to  trust  copyists ;  I  have 
read  everything  myself.  I  have 
made  my  own  extracts  from  papers 
whichi  might  never  see  a  second  t.  me. 
I  have  had  to  condense  pages  into 
single  sentences,  to  translate,  and 
to  analyse ;  and  have  had  after- 
wards to  depend  entirely  on  my 
own  transcripts.  Under  such  con- 
ditions it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
affirm  that  no  reference  has  been 
misplaced,  and  no  inverted  commas 
fallen  to  the  wrong  words.  I  have 
done  my  best  to  be  exact,  and  no 
writer  can  undertake  more.  In 
passing  from  my  notes  to  my 
written  composition,  from  my  com- 
position to  print,  from  one  edition 
to  another,  the  utmost  care  will  not 
prevent  mistakes.  It  often  happens 
that  half  a  letter  is  in  one  collection 
and  half  in  another.  There  will  be 
two  letters  from  the  same  person, 
and  the  same  place,  on  the  same 
subject  and  on  the  same  day.  One 
may  be  among  the  State  Papers, 
another  in  the  British  Museum.  I 
will  not  say  that  passages  from  two 
such  letters  may  not  at  times  ap- 
pear in  my  text  as  if  they  were  one. 
A  critic  looks  at  the  reference,  finds 
part  of  what  I  have  said  and  not 
the  other,  and  jumps  to  the  conclu- 

sion that  I  have  invented  it.  Of 
course  I  don't  complain  of  faults 
of  this  kind  being  pointed  out.  I 
am  obliged  to  anyone  who  wiU  take 
the  trouble.  I  do  complain,  that 
when  I  am  doing  my  utmost  to  tell 
the  truth  I  should  be  charged  so 
hastily  with  fraud.  I  referred  and 
I  refer  all  such  accusers  to  a  com- 
petent tribunal  of  impartial  persons, 
accustomed  to  deal  with  historical 
documents,  who  understand  the 
conditions  under  which  a  work  like 
mine  can  be  composed,  and  will 
know,  when  a  passage  seems  to  be 
unsupported,  where  to  look  for  the 
evidence,  and  where  to  find  it. 
More  than  this  I  will  never  conde- 
scend to  say  on  the  subject  of  my 
historical  veracity.  It  is  my  last 
word.  But  I  will  not  allow  that  I 
have  been  convicted,  as  Father 
Burke  calls  it,  till  I  have  been  pro- 
perly tried. 

Once  more.  Father  Burke  says  I 
■  am  unfit  to  speak  of  Ireland,  be- 
cause I  hate  the  Catholic  Church. 
I  show  my  hatred,  it  appears,  by 
holding  the  Church  answerable  for 
the  cruelties  of  the  Duke  of  Alva  in 
the  Netherlands,  and  for  the  mas- 
sacre of  St.  Bartholomew's  Day  in 

Here  is  what  the  Father  says  on 
the  first  of  these  matters:  *  Alva 
fought  in  the  Netherlands  against 
an  uprising  against  the  authority  of 
the  State.  If  the  rebels  happened 
to  be  Protestants,  there  is  no  reason 
to  father  their  blood  upon  the  Ca- 

I  beg  you  to  attend  to  this  pas- 
sage. This  is  the  way  in  w^hich 
modem  Catholic  history  is  com- 
posed; and  you  may  see  from  it 
what  kind  of  lessons  children  will 
be  taught  in  the  national  schools  if 
Catholics  have  the  control  of  the 
text  books.  Father  Burke  himself, 
perhaps,  only  repeats  what  he  has 
been  taught.  I  suppose  he  never 
heard  of  the  Edicts  of  Charles  the 
Fifth.  By  those  Edicts,  which 
were  issued  at  the  opening  of  the 


Address  in  Afiswer  to  Failier  Bm-he. 

RefoiToation,  every  man  convicted 
of  holding  heretical  opinions  was  to 
lose  his  head.  K  he  was  obstinate 
and  refused  to  recant,  he  was  to  be 
burned.  Women  were  to  be  buried 
alive.  Those  who  concealed  here- 
tics were  liable  to  the  same  penal- 
ti^  as  the  heretics  themselves.  The 
execution  of  the  Edicts  was  com- 
mitted to  the  Episcopal  Inquisition, 
and  under  them,  in  that  one  reign, 
the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  was 
alive  at  the  time,  and  the  great 
Grotius,  whose  name  alone  is  a 
gaarantee  against  a  suspicion  of 
exaggeration,  declares  that  not  less 
thaa  fifty  thousand  persons  were 
put  to  death  in  cold  blood.  I  have 
myself  expressed  a  doubt  whether 
these  numbers  could  have  been 
really  so  large  ;  but  a  better  judge 
than  I  am,  a  man  totally  untrou- 
bled with  theological  preposses- 
sions, the  historian  Gibbon,  consi- 
ders the  lai^st  estimate  to  be 
the  nearest  to  the  truth.  I  don't 
ask  you  to  believe  me.  Ladies  and 
Gentlemen — ^read  Grotius;  read  the 
Prince  of  Orange's  apology;  read 
the  pages  of  your  own  Mr.  Motley. 

And  then  because  the  Nether- 
lands, unable  to  endure  those  atro- 
cities, rose  in  arms  to  drive  the 
Spaniards  out  of  the  country,  the 
Duke  of  Alva  may  massacre  twenty 
thousand  more  of  them;  they  are 
only  rebels.  The  Church  is  inno- 
cent of  their  blood. 

Father  Burke,  in  like  manner, 
dechires  the  Church  to  be  blameless 
for  the  destruction  of  the  French 
Protestants.  *  The  Te  Deums  that 
were  gnng  at  Rome,  when  the  news 
came,  he  says,  were  for  the  safety 
of  the  King,  and  not  for  the  mas- 
sacre of  the  Huguenots.  Indeed  ! 
Then  why  did  the  infallible  Pope 
iftsne  a  medal,  on  which  was  stamp- 
ed, Hu^ono^orum  strages,  slaughter 
of  ihB  Huguenots  ?  Why  was  the 
design  ou  the  reverse  of  the  medal 
an  angel  with  a  sword,  smiting  the 
Hydra  of  heresy  ?  Does  Father 
Burke  know — I  suppose  not— that 

the  murders  in  Paris  were  but  the 
beginning  of  a  scene  of  havoc, 
which  overspread  France,  and  lasted 
for  nearly  two  months  ?  Eighteen 
or  nineteen  thousand  persons  wero 
killed  in  Paris  on  the  24th  of 
August.  By  the  end  of  September, 
the  list  was  swollen  to  seventy 
thousand.  Strangely  incautious, 
infallible  Pope,  if  he  was  only  grate- 
ful for  the  safety  of  Charles  the 
Ninth  !  For  what  must  have  been 
the  effect  of  the  news  of  the  Pope's 
approval  on  the  zeal  of  the  ortho- 
dox executioners  ? 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen : — I  do  not 
hate  the  Catholic  religion.  Some 
of  the  best  and  holiest  men  I  have 
ever  heard  of  have  lived  and  died  in 
the  Catholic  faith.  But  I  do  hate 
the  spirit  which  the  Church  dis- 
played in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  and  I  hate  the 
spirit  which  would  throw  a  veil  of 
sophistry  over  those  atrocities  in  the 
nineteenth.  The  history  of  the  il- 
lustrious men  who  fought  and  bled 
in  that  long  desperate  battle  for 
liberty  of  conscience,  that  very  li- 
berty to  which  Catholics  now  ap- 
peal, is  a  sacred  treasure  left  in 
charge  to  all  succeeding  generations. 
If  we  allow  a  legend  like  this  of 
Father  Burke's  to  overspread  and 
cloud  that  glorious  record,  we  shall 
be  false  to  our  trust,  and  through 
our  imbecility  and  cowardice  we 
may  bequeath  to  future  ages  the 
legacy  of  another  struggle. 

Father  Burke  himself  is  for  tole- 
ration— ^the  freest  and  the  widest. 
I  am  heartily  glad  of  it.  I  wish  I 
could  feel  that  he  was  speaking  for 
his  Church  as  well  as  himself. 
But  my  mind  misgives  me  when  I 
read  the  Syllabus.  In  the  same 
number  of  the  New  York  Tablet 
from  which  I  take  his  speech,  I  find 
an  article  condemning  the  admis- 
sion of  the  Jews  to  the  rights  of 
citizens.  When  I  was  last  in  Spain 
there  was  no  Protestant  church 
allowed  in  the  Peninsula.  I  used 
to  feel  that  if  I  had  the  fortune  to 

Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


die  there,  I  should  be  buried  in  a 
field  like  a  dog.  If  all  that  is  now 
ended,  it  was  not  ended  by  the  Pope 
and  the  Bishops.  It  was  ended  by 
the  Revolution. 

Nor  is  it  very  hard  to  be  tolerant 
on  Father  Burke's  terms.  In  his 
reading  of  history  the  Protestants 
were  the  chief  criminals.  The  Ca- 
tholics were  innocent  victims.  If 
on  those  terms  he  is  willing  to  for- 
give and  forget,  I  for  one  am  not. 
Father  Burke  knows  the  connection 
between  confession  and. absolution. 
The  first  is  the  condition  of  the 
second.  When  the  Catholic  Church 
admits  frankly  her  past  faults,  the 
world  will  as  frankly  forgive  them. 
If  she  takes  refuge  in  evasion  ;  if 
she  persists  in  throwing  the  blame 
on  others  who  were  guilty  of  no- 
thing except  resistance  to  her  ty- 
ranny, the  innocent  blood  that  she 
shed  remains  upon  her  hands,  and 
all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not 
sweeten  them. 

I  will  assume,  then,  that  I  am  fit 
to  speak  on  this  Irish  subject,  and 
I  will  at  once  pass  to  it.  I  must  be 
brief.  I  shall  pass  from  point  to 
point,  and  leave  irrelevant  matter 
on  one  side. 

I  said  that  Ireland  was  in  a  state 
of  anarchy  before  the  Norman  Con- 
quest. In  other  countries  I  said 
there  were  wars,  but  order  was 
coming  out  of  them.  In  Ireland  I 
said  no  such  tendency  was  visible. 
Father  Burke  answers  that  the 
Danes  had  caused  the  trouble,  that 
the  Irish  had  at  last  driven  the 
Danes  out  and  were  settling  down 
to  peace  and  good  government. 
He  alludes  to  the  Wars  of  the  Roses, 
which  he  says  left  England  utterly 
demoralised  for  half  a  century.  Is 
he  serious  ?  Is  he  speaking  of  the 
Englandwhich  Erasmus  came  to  visit 
— which  the  Governments  of  Spain 
and  France  courted  persistently  as 
the  arbiter  of  Europe,  of  the  country 
which  could  adopt  for  its  motto. 
Cut  adhereo  Prceest — I  hold  in  my 
hand  the  balance  of  the  European 

community  ?  Archbishop  Anselm, 
it  seems,  wrote  to  congratulate  a 
king  of  Munster  on  the  quiet  of  the 
country.  I  beg  any  of  you  to  turn 
over  the  leaves  of  the  A7in(ils  of 
the  Four  Masters,  the  most  authori- 
tative record  of  Irish  history.  I 
read  in  my  lectures  the  entry  for 
the  year  i  i6o,  fourteen  years  before 
the  conquest,  when,  according  to 
the  Father,  all  things  were  going  so 
well.  In  that  one  year  three  kings 
were  killed,  besides  an  infinite 
slaughter  of  other  people.  Look 
for  yourselves.  See  whether  that 
year  was  exceptionally  bad.  If 
there  was  a  few  months'  breathing 
time  in  such  a  state  of  things  an 
Archbishop  might  well  write  to 

Giraldus,  the  Welshman,  wLo 
came  over  soon  after  to  see  what  Ire- 
land was  like,  confirms  substantially 
the  account  of  the  Annals,  Father 
Burke  calls  him  fteely  a  liar,  though 
he  quotes  him  approvingly  when  he 
mentions  the  Irish  virtues.  If 
Giraldus  is  to  be  believed  when  he 
says  the  Irish  were  loyal  to  their 
chief,  I  do  not  know  why  he  is  not 
to  be  believed  when  he  says  they 
were  fierce,  licentious,  treacherous, 
false,  and  cruel.  Gii*aldus  tells 
some  absurd  stories.  The  Irish 
books  of  the  age  are  full  of  stories 
much  more  absurd.  In  the  twelfth 
century  there  were  extant  sixty-six 
Lives  of  St.  Patrick.  Mr.  Gibbon 
says  of  them  that  they  must  have 
contained  at  least  as  many  thousand 
lies.  That  is  a  large  estimate.  Of 
those  which  survive,  the  earliest, 
which  is  very  beautifal,  contains 
few  lies,  or,  perhaps,  none.  The 
latest,  that  by  Jocelyn  of  Ferns, 
Avhich  has  been  adopted  by  the 
Bollandists,  contains  probably  many 
more  than  a  thousand  lies.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  ridiculous  books  I 
ever  looked  into.  By  the  side  of 
Jocelyn,  Giraldus  is  a  rationalist. 
I  wish  you  would  read  Giraldus' 
account  of  Ireland.  It  is  trans- 
lated ;  it  is  short,  and  carries  about 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  BurJce, 

it,  in  my  opinion,  a  siamp  of  con- 
ceited Teracitj. 

I  go  to  the  Norman  Conquest 
itself,  and  Pope  Adrian's  Bnll, 
which  Father  Bnrke  still  declares 
to  be  a  forgery.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  I  attach  no  consequence  to  the 
Bull  itself.  I  suppose  the  Popes  of 
Rome  have  no  more  right  over  Ire- 
land than  I  have  over  Cuba.  The 
Popes,  howcTcr,  did  at  that  time 
represent  the  general  conscience. 
What  a  Pope  sanctioned  was  usu- 
allj  what  the  intelligent  part  of 
mankind  held  to  be'  right.  If  the 
Normans  foiled  such  a  sanction  to 
colonr  their  conquest,  they  commit- 
ted a  crime  which  ought  to  be  ex- 
posed. The  naked  facts  are  these  : — 
King  Henry,  when  he  conquered 
Ireland,  produced  as  his  authority 
a  Bull  said  to  have  been  granted 
twenty  years  before  by  Pope  Adrian. 
It  is  matter  of  history  that  from 
the  date  of  the  conquest  Peter's 
Pence  was  paid  regularly  to  Rome 
hy  Ireland.  Ecclesiastical  suits 
were  referred  to  Rome.  Continual 
application  was  made  to  Romo  for 
dispensations  to  marry  within  the 
forbidden  degrees.  There  was  close 
and  constant  communication  from 
that  time  forward  between  the 
Irish  people  and  clergy  and  the 
Roman  Court.  Is  it  conceivable 
that,  in  the  course  of  all  this  com- 
munication, the  Irish  should  never 
have  mcntioT^ed  this  forged  Bull  at 
Borne,  or  that  if  they  did  mention 
it,  there  should  have  been  no  en- 
quiry and  exposure  ?  To  me  such 
a  supposition  is  utterly  incon- 

But  the  Bull,  says  Father  Burke, 
is  a  forgery,  on  the  face  of  it.  The 
date  upon  it  is  T154.  Adrian  was 
elected  Pope  on  December  3,  1154. 
John  of  Salisbury,  by  whom  the 
Bull  was  procured,  did  not  arrive 
in  Rome  to  ask  for  it  till  1 155. 
What  clearer  proof  could  there  be  ? 
Very  pkmsible.  But  forgers  would 
scarcely  have  committed  a  blunder 
60  simple.     Father  Burke's  criti- 

cism comes  from  handling  tools  he 
is  imperfectly  acquainted  with.  He 
is  evidently  ignorant  that  the  Eng- 
lish official  year  began  on  March  25. 
A  paper  dated  February,  1154,  was 
in  reality  written  in  February, 
1155.  The  Popes  did  not  use  this 
style,  but  Englishmen  did,  and  a 
confusion  of  this  kind  is  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  in  the 
publication  of  a  document  by  which 
England  was  specially  affected. 

But  we  are  only  at  the  beginning 
of  the  difficulty  in  which  we  are 
involved  by  the  hypothesis  of  for- 
gery. I  advised  Father  Burke  to 
look  at  a  letter  from  a  subsequent 
Pope  to  King  Henry  III.,  published 
by  Dr.  Theiner  from  the  Vatican 

I  have  not  Dr.  Theiner's  book  by 
me  to  refer  to ;  I  must  therefore 
describe  the  letter  from  memory, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  remem- 
ber it  substantially.  The  Irish  had 
represented  at  Rome  that  the  Nor- 
mans had  treated  them  with  harsh- 
ness and  cruelty.  They  had  ap- 
pealed to  the  Pope.  They  had  been 
brought  under  the  Norman  yoke, 
they  said,  by  an  act  of  his  prede- 
cessor, and  they  begged  him  to  in- 
terpose. What  does  the  Pope  an- 
swer ?  Does  he  say  that  he  has 
looked  into  the  Archives  and  can 
find  no  recoi*d  of  any  such  act  of 
his  predecessor,  that  it  was  a  mis- 
take or  a  fraud  !  He  does  nothing 
of  the  kind.  He  writes  to  the  King 
of  England,  laying  the  complaints 
of  the  Irish  before  him.  He  re- 
minds him  gently  of  the  tenour  of 
the  commission  by  which  Adrian 
had  sanctioned  the  conquest,  and 
begs  him  to  restrain  the  violence  of 
his  Norman  subjects. 

Once  more  we  have  a  letter  from 
Donald  O'Neill,  calling  himself 
King  of  Ulster,  to  the  Pope,  speak- 
ing of  the  Normans  much  as  Father 
Burke  speaks  of  the  English  now  ; 
complaining  specially  of  Pope 
Adrian  for  having,  as  an  English- 
man,    sacrificed     Ireland     to    his 

AddrenH  in  Ansti-er  to  Father  Bvrke, 


CountrymeD.  The  idea  that  the 
grant  was  fictitious  had  never  oc- 
curred to  him.  As  little  was  the 
faintest  suspicion  entertained  at 
Rome.  The  Pope,  and  the  victims 
who  had  been  sacrificed,  were 
equally  the  dupes  of  Norman  cun- 
ning and  audacity.  Wonderful 
Normans !  Wonderful  infallible 
Pope  ! 

I  must  hurry  on.  I  have  no  oc- 
casion to  defend  the  Norman  rule 
in  Ireland.  It  was  an  attempt  to 
plant  the  feudal  system  on  a  soil 
which  did  not  agree  with  it,  and 
the  feudal  system  failed  as  com- 
pletely as  did  all  our  other  institu- 
tions which  we  have  attempted  to 
naturalise  there.  There  is,  how- 
ever, one  stereotyped  illustration  of 
Norman  tyranny  on  which  patriot 
oi*ators  are  never  weary  of  dilating, 
that  I  mast  for  a  moment  pause  to 
notice.  Of  course  Father  Burke 
C9uld  not  miss  it.  So  atrocious 
were  the  Norman  laws,  he  tells  us, 
that  the  Irish  were  denied  the 
privileges  of  human  beings.  It 
was  declared  not  to  be  felony  to  kill 
them.  So  stands  the  law ;  not  to 
be  denied  or  got  over  ;  yet  there  is 
something  more  to  be  said  on  that 
subject.  I  am  not  surprised  that 
it  did  not'  occur  to  Father  Burke  ; 
yet,  after  all,  it  was  not  the  inhuman 
barbarism  which  it  appears  to  be  at 
the  first  blush. 

As  the  Normans  found  they  could 
not  conquer  the  entire  island,  the 
counties  round  Dublin,  the  seaports 
and  municipal  towns  with  the 
adjoining  districts,  came  to  be 
known  as  the  English  Pale  :  within 
the  Pale  they  established  the  Eng- 
lish common  law ;  outside  the  Pale, 
in  the  territories  of  the  chiefs,  there 
remained  the  Brehon  or  Irish  law. 
Now  felony  was  a  word  of  English 
law  entirely.  Under  English  law, 
homicide  was  felony,  and  was  pun- 
ished by  death.  Under  the  Brehon 
law  homicide  was  not  felony :  it  was 
an  injury  for  which  compensation 
was  to  be  made  by  the  slayer  to  the 

family  of  the  slain.  Every  Irish- 
man living  inside  the  Pale  was  as 
much  protected  by  the  law  as  any- 
one else.  To  kill  him  was  as  much 
felony  as  to  kill  an  Englishman. 
But  English  law  could  not  protect 
those  who  refused  to  live  under  it. 
Questions  often  rose,  what  was  to 
be  done  when  hfe  was  lost  in  a 
border  scuffle  or  quarrel;  and  the 
Norman  Parliament  declined  to 
attach  more  importance  to  the  life 
of  an  outside  Irishman  than  his  own 
law  attached  to  it.  Father  Burke 
quotes  a  case  triumphantly  of  an 
Englishman  who  had  killed  an 
Irishman  pleading  the  Statute,  but 
oflfering  in  court  to  make  compen- 
sation according  to  Brehon  custom, 
and  being  in  consequence  acquitted. 
This  exactly  illustrates  what  I  have 
been  saying.  I  admit,  however,  and 
I  insisted  in  my  own  lectures,  that 
the  Norman  failure  had  been  com- 
plete— that  the  result  of  the  con- 
quest was  to  leave  the  country, 
after  three  hundred  yeai-s*  experi- 
ence, worse  than  before. 

I  pass  to  the  modern  period. 
Father  Burke  opens  with  an  elo- 
quent denunciation  of  Henry  VIII., 
and  as  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  on 
points  of  more  consequence,  I  leave 
Henry  to  his  mercies.  I  will  only 
pause  out  of  curiosity  to  ask  for 
more  information  about  three  Car- 
thusian abbots,  whom  a  jury  re- 
fused to  find  guilty  under  the  Su- 
premacy Act,  till  Henry  threatened, 
if  they  did  not  comply,  to  prosecute 
them  for  treason.  I  thought  I  knew 
the  history  of  all  the  treason  trials 
of  that  reign.  I  know  of  several 
abbots  being  tried  and  executed. 
I  remember  the  story  of  the  prior 
and  monks  of  the  Charterhouse,  and 
touohingly  beautiful  it  is.  But  I 
cannot  tit  on  Father  Burke's  story 
to  any  of  them.  If,  as  I  suppose, 
he  does  -mean  the  prior  *nd  monks 
of  the  Charterhouse,  the  records 
of  the  trial  prove  conclusively  that 
the  story  about  the  jury  cannot  be 


Address  in  Anstcer  to  Father  Burke, 


As  to  Ireland  at  this  period,  I 
cannot  make  out-  Father  Burke's 
position.  He  possesses  odd  little 
pieces  of  real  knowledge  set  in  a 
framework — since  I  cannot  accnse 
him  of  misrepresentation — set  in  a 
framework  of  snch  singular  unac- 
quaintance  with  the  general  com- 
plexion of  the  times,  that  I  have 
speculated  much  how  he  came  b^ 
these  bits  of  knowledge.  He  quotes 
from  the  State  Papers.  Let  me 
tell  you  generally  what  these  State 
Papers  are.  "When  there  were  no 
newspapers,  ministers  depended  for 
their  information  on  their  corre- 
spondents, and  you  find  in  these 
collections  letters  and  reports  of  all 
kinds  from  all  sorts  of  people,  con- 
veying the  same  kind  of  infonnation 
which  yon  would  gajjier  out  of  a 
newspaper  to-day — with  the  same 
conflict  of  opinions.  Those  relating 
to  Ireland  during  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.  have  been  printed,  and 
fill  two  large  thick  quarto  volumes 
of  800  or  900  pages  each.  There 
are  also  four  volumes  of  Calendars, 
or  abstracts  of  papers  of  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth,  known  by  the  name  of 
tlie  Carew  Collection  of  MSS.,  with 
long  and  most  interesting  extracts. 
If  any  of  you  will  read  these 
volumes,  and  will  read  at  the  same 
time  the  Beview  of  the  State  of  Ire- 
land by  the  poet  Spenser,  Baron 
Finglas's  Breviate  of  Ireland^  and 
Sir  Henry  Sidney's  Correapoiidencey 
you  will  not  require  either  me  or 
Father  Burke  to  tell  you  what  was 
the  real  condition  of  the  country 
vfc  are  both  talking  about. 

Meanwhile  I  must  say  a  word  or 
two.  Father  Burke  talks  with  great 
vehemence  about  spoliation  of  lands 
and  the  expulsion  of  Irishmen  from 
the  homes  of  their  fathers.  There  is 
a  document,  the  opening  document 
of  the  *  King  Henry  series,*  which 
he  does  not  seem  to  have  '  studied, 
but  which  I  wish  you  would  study, 
for  it  gives  a  complete  key  to 'the 
real  dS^culties  of  Ireland,  and  to  all 
the  po]i<^  of  the  succeeding  reigns. 

This  document  is  dated  1515,  and 
is  called  a  '  Report  on  the  State  of 
Ireland,  with  a  Plan  for  its  Refor- 
naation . '  Father  Burke  admits  that 
there  was  disorder  at  this  time,  but 
he  says  it  was  caused  by  the  Anglo- 
Normans.  Now  this  report  explains 
that  the  real  cause  was  that  the 
Normans  had  ceased  to  be  Normans, 
and  had  become  Irish.  They  spoke 
Irish,  dressed  hke  Irish,  adopted 
Irish  habits,  and  laws,  and  customs. 
Father  Burke  cannot  be  ignorant 
that  to  the  Geraldines  in  Munster 
and  Loinster,  to  the  Butlers  in  Kil- 
kenny, to  his  own  ancestors,  the  De 
Burghs,  or  Burkes,  in  the  west,  the 
Irish  clans  looked  up  with  a  feeUng 
of  loyal  allegiance.  As  far  as  there 
was  any  order  at  all  in  the  country, 
it  was  in  the  homage  paid  by  the 
native  race  to  these  four  fami- 
lies. They,  and  the  smaller  Nor- 
man barons  who  held  under  them, 
are  spoken  of  in  the  State  Papers  as 
English  in  contrast  to  Irish.  They 
wore  as  much  English  as  you 
Americans  are  English,  or  as  Grat- 
tan  and  Wolf  Tone  were  English ; 
yet  Father  Burke  thinks  that  ho 
makes  a  point  when  he  quotes  a 
passage  saying  that  some  of  these 
people  were  more  troublesome  than 
the  Irish.  Of  course  they  were.  Did 
he  never  hear  the  old  phrase :  Ipsis 
Hihemis  Ilihemiores  —  more  Irish 
than  the  Msh  themselves  ? 

I  want  you  to  understand  the 
social  state  of  the  country  as  this 
report  delineates  it.  There  were  at 
this  time  sixty  great  Irish  chiefis 
and  thirty  great  Norman  chiefs — 
each  independent,  each  ruling  by 
his  own  sword,  each  making  war  at 
his  pleasure,  and  all  living  in  pre- 
cisely the  'same  manner.  Between 
them  they  kept  in  idleness,"  to  do 
nothing  but  fight,  about  6oyOoo 
armed  men,  foot  and  horse — the  en- 
tire population  being  about  half  a 
million.  The  chiefs  of  this  enor- 
mous body  of  vagabonds  were  main- 
tained by  an  Irish  custom  called 
coyn  and  livery.       Father  Burke 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


boasts  tHat  there  was  no  slavery  in 
Ireland.  No,  but  there  was  worse, 
for  the  wretched  peasantry  were 
obliged  to  supply  idl  these  people 
with  meat,  clothes,  and  lodging  for 
man  and  horse.  Coyn  and  livery 
meant  not  only  that  the  chiefs* 
castles  were  to  be  kept  supplied, 
but  that  all  their  fighting-people, 
themselves  and  their  horses,  were 
to  live  at  free  quarters  in  the  pea- 
sants' homes. 

It  was  this  fighting  contingent 
that  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 
While  they  were  allowed  to  plunder 
the  people  at  pleasure,  industry  was 
impossible.  Peace  was  equally  im- 
possible while  there  were  so  many 
men  who  had  no  occupation  but 

The  problem  of  the  English 
Government  throughout  the  six- 
teenth century  was  to  break  the 
system  down,  to  protect  the  peasant 
who  was  cultivating  the  soil,  and, 
by  stopping  their  enforced  supplies, 
compel  the  fighting  banditti  to  take 
to  some  other  employment.  Here 
lies  the  explanation  of  Father 
Burke's  mistakes.  When  he  talks 
of  confiscation  and  spoliation,  it  was 
confiscation  simply  of  the  rights  of 
robbers  to  plunder  the  poor.  All 
sorts  of  plans  were  thought  of,  and 
ultimately  tried :  sometimes  to  use 
downright  force,  to  send  an  English 
army  and  conquer  them  ;  sometimes 
to  arm  the  peasantry,  and  make 
them  protect  themselves  ;  some- 
times to  plant  English  and  Scotch 
colonies  ;  sometimes,  where  the  case 
seemed  hopeless,  to  send  the  entire 
race  over  the  Shannon  into  Con- 
naught,  where,  in  closer  quarters, 
they  would  be  unable  to  find  the 
means  of  supporting  the  fighting 

I  cannot  go  into  ary  details  here. 
I  ask  you  only  to  satisfy  yourselves, 
by  a  perusal  of  the  report,  that  this 
was  the  real  condition  to  which  the 
country  was  reduced.  You  will 
then  see  how  arduous  the  problem 
was,  and  be  better  able  to  form  a 

just  opinion  on  the  conduct  which 
England  pursued.  Father  Burke 
says  nothing  of  it.  I  can  hardly 
suppose  he  knew  anything  about  it. 
Yet  anyone  who  will  look  to  the 
index  of  the  State  Papers  and  the 
Carew  Papers,  and  will  refer  to  the 
words  *  Coyn  and  Livery,'  will  see 
that  this  Insh  custom  with  its  con- 
sequences was  the  one  central  enor- 
mity against  which  English  effort 
was,  however  ineffectually,  directed. 

The  Reformation  of  course  com- 
plicated matters  worse,  but  the 
social  problem  then  as  now  was  the 
real  one.  When  I  spoke  of  King 
Henry's  appointment  of  the  Earl  of 
Kildare  to  the  viceroyalty  as  an 
experiment  of  Home  Rule,  Father 
Burke  asks  me  why  Henry  did  not 
call  a  Parliaijient  of  the  Irish  chiefs. 
This,  I  admit,  would  have  been  a 
worse  form  of  Home  Rule.  The 
peasant  grievances  would  have  had 
even  less  chance  of  a  hearing  then 
than  they  would  have  from  a  sepa- 
rate Irish  Parliament  if  it  were 
called  to-day. 

I  am  laying  down  broad  outlines. 
I  must  reserve  my  particular  criti- 
cisms for  a  more  pressing  part  of 
the  story. 

I  notice,  however,  firsts  what 
Father  Burke  says  of  the  Norman 
Irish,  the  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  the 
insurrection  of  Lord  Thomas  Fitat- 
gerald.  He  says  Kildare  was  an 
Englishman.  He  was  as  much  an 
Englishman  as  Lord  Edward  Fitz- 
gerald, his  descendant,  or  Dr. 
McNevin.  That  is  to  say,  he  was 
the  most  Irish  nobleman — ^with  the 
exception,  perhaps,  of  his  kinsman , 
the  Earl  of  Desmond — that  was  to 
be  found  in  the  country.  Father 
Burke  says  the  insurrection  was  an 
English  insurrection ;  the  parties  to 
it,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  all 
English;  that  it  was  an  English 
business  altogether,  and  that  the 
Irish  were  only  sufferers.  It  was 
English  in  the  sense  that  the  asso- 
ciations of  the  United  Irishmen 
were  English,  neither  less  nor  more. 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burlce. 


I  suppose  that  his  words  were  no 
more  than  a  rhetorical  flourish  to 
gain  an  immediate  point.  If  not, 
and  if  he  really  indicates  the  pre- 
sent views  of  the  Celtic  race  on 
their  history  and  their  misfortunes, 
it  is  a  new  and  extremely  significant 
feature  in  the  progress  of  the  ques- 
tion. Till  this  time  the  Geraldines 
baye  heen  the  idols  of  the  national 
tradition.  O'Connell  used  to  say 
that  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  Kildare's 
representative,  was  the  natural 
King  of  Ireland.  Lord  Thomas 
has  been  one  of  the  most  popular 
Irish  heroes.  K  all  this  is  now  to  be 
thrown  aside,  I  will  only  say  here, 
that  it  is  a  bad  return  for  the  blood 
which  the  Geraldines  and  the 
Barons  of  the  Pale  risked  and  lost 
in  the  cause  of  Ireland  and  the 
Catholic  Church.  I  trust,  for  the 
honour  of  Irish  patriotism,  that 
Father  Bnrke  is  not  in  this  instance 
a  representative  of  the  feelings  of 
his  people. 

As  to  the  Kildare  rebellion  itself, 
Father  Burke,  as  usual,  exaggerates. 
He  says  it  desolated  the  whole  of 
Munster  and  a  great  part  of  Lein- 
ster, and  ruined  half  the  Irish  peo- 
ple. It  scarcely  touched  Munster 
at  all.  It  affected  severely  only  half 
leinster.  The  chief  sufferers  were 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Pale,  and 
among  them  chiefly  such  of  the  in- 
habitants as  were  loyal  to  English 
rule.  But  I  conclude  that  Father 
Bnrke  is  not  distinguishing  between 
Ae  rebellion  of  the  Kildares  under 
Henry  Vlll.  and  the  rebellion  of 
the  Desmonds  under  Elizabeth,  and 
lumps  them  both  together  as  a  con- 
fused unity. 

I  will  not  follow  him  through 
the  Reformation  History.  But  he 
asks  a  question  which  I  will  an- 
swer. I  said  in  my  lectures  that 
the  private  Kves  of  some  of  the  Ca- 
tbohc  bishops,  before  the  Reforma- 
tion, were  not  perfectly  regular. 
I  made  Hght  of  it,  and  I  make 
light  of  it  now.  But,  when  he  caUs 
it  *a  wild  and  unsupported  asser- 

tion,' I  must  show  him  that  I  was 
not  speaking  without  book..  I  was 
thinking  at  the  moment  of  Arch- 
bishop Bodkin,  of  Tuam,  from  whom 
the  Galway  Bodkins,  whom  Father 
Burke  must  know  about,  are  de- 
scended. If  he  requires  another 
instance  I  must  send  him  back  to 
Dr.  Theiner.  ♦!  wish  he  would  read 
his  Theiner.  He  need  not  be  afraid ; 
there  is  no  heresy  in  it.  It  comes 
from  Home,  from  the  very  fountain 
of  infallibility.  If  he  will  look 
there,  he  wiU  find  an  account  of  a 
most  reverend  gentleman,  which  I 
need  not  stop  to  particularise.  It  will 
satisfy  him,  I  think,  that  my  asser- 
tion was  less  wild  than  he  supposes. 
Again,  about  the  bishops  and  the 
oath  of  supremacy  to  King  Henry. 
He  admits  eight  bishops  and  an 
archbishop ;  when  I  get  home  I  will 
give  him  the  names  of  two  or  three 
more.  But  it  is  of  no  importance. 
He  cannot  show  that  those  who  did 
not  swear  made  any  active  or  pro- 
longed opposition.  Nor  does  he 
deny  that  the  greatest  of  the  Celtic 
chiefs  accepted  peerages  fromHenry, 
voted  him  King  of  Ireland,  helped 
him  to  suppress  the  abbeys,  and 
accepted  the  abbey-lands  for  them- 
selves. But  so  great,  it  appears, 
was  the  orthodoxy  of  the  Catholic 
people  of  Ireland  that,  although 
they  never  before  rebelled  against 
their  chiefs,  on  this  occasion  they 
did  rise  and  deposed  them.  Let  us 
take  the  most  important  instance. 
Con  O'Neill,  the  great  O'Neill,  the 
descendant  of  the  Irish  kings,  was 
made  by  Henry,  Earl  of  Tyrone. 
This  O'Neill,  Father  Bnrke  says, 
was  taken  by  his  son  and  clapped 
into  gaol,  where  he  died.  A  very 
pious  son,  no  doubt,  and  moved  en- 
tirely by  his  zeal  for  holy  Church. 
The  son  in  question  was  the  cele- 
brated Shan,  a  bastard  son  of  Con, 
but  *  a  broth  of  a  boy,'  as  they  say 
over  there,  and  the  darling  of  the 
tribe.  By  tanistry,  or  the  Irish 
method  of  election,  Shan  would 
have  succeeded  to  the  chieftainship, 


Address  in  Aiiswer  to  Father  Burke. 


but  by  the  patent  of  the  earldom 
the  successor  was  not  to  be  Shan, 
but  his  legitimate  brother.  The  old 
Con  also  preferred  the  legitimate 
son.  Shan  had  a  certain  respect 
for  his  father.  In  one  of  his  letters, 
of  which  I  have  read  many,  he  says, 
alluding  to  his  own  parentage,  that 
his  father,  like  a  gentleman  as  he 
was,  never  denied  any  child  that 
was  sworn  to  him,  but  Shan  was 
not  going  to  lose  his  inheritance  on 
that  account.  He  conspired  against 
Con,  and,  as  Father  Burke  trulysays, 
shut  him  up  till  he  died.  The 
legitimate  brother  was  murdered 
or  made  away  with,  and  Shan  by 
these  means  became  the  O'Neill. 
A  very  natural  piece  of  business, 
but  I  should  not  have  described  it 
myself  as  arising  from  devotion  to 
the  Catholic  faith. 

Once  more  (Father  Burke  drags 
it  in  here  out  of  its  natural  place, 
but  I  will  follow  his  own  arrange- 
ment), he  insists  on  the  religious 
toleration  which  was  always  dis- 
played by  the  Irish  Catholics. 
There  were  no  heresy  prosecutions 
in  Ireland.  These  heresy  prosecu- 
tions were  judicial  processes,  and 
the  Irish  preferred  more  rough  and 
ready  ways.  I  have  no  room  to  go 
into  this.  But  Father  Burke  pro- 
duces as  a  proof  an  act  of  the  Celtic 
Catholic  Irish  Parliament,  which 
met  in  the  time  of  James  the 
Second,  on  which  I  must  make  a 
short  remark. 

What,  said  the  Father,  was  the 
first  law  which  tliis  Catholic  Irish 
Parliament  passed  ?  '  We  hereby 
decree  that  it  is  the  law  of  this  land 
of  Ireland  that  neither  now,  nor  ever 
again,  shall  any  man  be  prosecuted 
for  his  religion.'  *  Was  not  this 
magnificent  ?  '  he  asked,  and  ho  was 
answered  by  *  tremendous  cheers.' 

I  am  very  glad  that  he  and  his 
hearers  are  such  complete  converts 
to  toleration.  But  his  mind  is  not 
yet  in  the  perfectly  equitable  state 
which  I  could  desire.  The  value 
of  the  Act  is  diminished  when  we 

remember  that  it  was  accompanied 
by  two  other  Acts  which  deprived 
almost  every  Protestant  in  Ireland 
of  every  acre  of  land  which  he  pos- 
sessed. Let  me  remind  you,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  of  one  or  two  points 
in  the  history  of  James  II.  He 
was  meditating  the  restoration  of 
Popery  in  England,  and  ho  took  np 
with  toleration  that  he  might  intro- 
duce Catholics,  under  cover  of  it, 
into  high  offices  of  State,  and  bribe 
the  Protestant  Nonconformists  to 
support  him.  The  Nonconformists 
knew  too  well  what  he  was  about, 
and  wore  not  to  be  so  taken  in.  In 
like  manner  the  Irish  Parliament 
was  throwing  out  a  bait  to  the 
Presbyterian  farmers  and  artisans, 
who  had  been  persecuted  by  the 
Bishops  of  the  Establishment.  They 
also  were  too  wary  to  be  tempted. 
They  knew  what  could  happen 
when  the  Pope  was  in  his  saddle 
again.  They  held  no  land,  and  the 
Confiscation  Acts  did  not  touch 
them.  But  instead  of  joining  Tyr- 
conuell  they  closed  the  gates  of 
Dcrry  in  his  face,  and  built  for 
themselves  an  immortal  monument 
in  tlie  gallery  of  Protestant  heroes. 
About  Elizabeth's  conduct  in  Ire- 
land there  is  not  much  difference  of 
opinion  between  Father  Burke  and 
me.  He  quotes  a  passage  of  mine, 
some  rhetorical  nonsense,  as  I  dare 
say  it  was,  about  the  Star  of 
Libei-ty,  which  he  calls  extremely 
eloquent,  and  then  proceeds  to  cut 
in  pieces.  Before  praising  my  style 
in  that  way  I  wish  he  would  quote 
my  words  accurately.  He  has  lopped 
and  chopped  the  poor  little  sen- 
tence, altered  words,  spoilt  ca- 
dences, marred  the  whole  effect, 
and  then  given  it  to  the  world  as 
my  idea  of  fine  wnting.  I  am 
obliged  to  him  for  the  compliment, 
but  in  the  plucked  and  wretched 
state  in  which  ho  exhibits  me,  I 
could  well  have  dispensed  with  it. 
The  fact,  however,  to  which  the 
passage  refers,  is  of  real  import- 
ance.     Elizabeth  had   to  fight  at 


Address  i»  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


last  with  the  great  Catholic  powers 
of  Enn>pe  in  defence  of  the  Refor- 
mation. She  was  very  unwilling 
to  do  it,  but  at  last  she  was  forced 
to  do  it,  and  she  won  the  battle. 
Father  Burke  thinks  he  answers  me 
by  pointing  to  the  Act  of  Uniform- 
ity passed  in  Ireland  in  the  second 
rear  of  her  reign.  I  had  myself 
mentioned  this  Act  and  explained 
why  it  was  passed.  I  regretted  it 
and  called  it  unwise,  but  I  added 
that  it  was  not  executed,  and  I  am 
ohliged  to  insist  to  Father  Burke 
that  this  is  true  and  that  the 
smallest  accurate  acquaintance 
with  the  time  will .  show  anyone 
thftt  it  is  true.  The  whole  coun- 
try was  a  prey  to  anarchy.  The 
churches  like  all  else  went  to  ruin. 
But  among  other  causes  of  this  the 
roost  important  was  perhaps  Eliza- 
beth's determination  that  the  Act 
of  Uniformity  should  not  be  en- 
forced. I  speak  of  what  I  know. 
I  have  studied  her  correspondence 
with  the  viceroys.  One  of  them, 
Lord  Grey,  being  a  strong  Puritan, 
pressed  to  be  allowed  to  make  what 
he  called  a  Mahometan  conquest, 
to  offer  the  people  the  Reformation 
or  the  sword — his  complaint  was 
that  she  forbade  him  to  do  it,  for- 
hade  him  strictly  to  meddle  with 
anyone  for  religion  who  was  not  in 
rebellion  against  the  crown. 

I  said  and  I  repeat  that  Elizabeth 
meant  well  to  the  poor  country, 
though  never  was  the  proverb 
better  illustrated,  that  the  road  to 
the  wrong  place  is  paved  with  good 

I  come  now  to  the  part  of  the 
business  which  ib  of  present  prac- 
tical consequence. 

I  begin  with  the  Ulster  settle- 
ment, tibe  Protestant  colonisation  of 
the  North  of  Ireland  under  James  I. 
Father  Burke  says,  James  I. 
promised  that  the  Irish  should  be 
lefl  in  possession  of  their  lands, 
that  he  kept  his  promise  for  four 
jears  and  then  broke  it.  The  Earls 
of  Tyrconnell  and  Tyrone  fled  from 

Ireland  to  escape  imprisonment; 
James  then  took  the  whole  province 
of  Ulster  from  the  original  proprie- 
tor and  handed  it  over  to  settlers 
from  England  and  Scotland.  Pro- 
mises are,  I  suppose,  conditional  on 
good  behaviour.  Many  an  oath 
had  Tyrone  sworn  to  be  a  loyal 
subject,  and  many  an  oath  had  ho 
broken.  Was  he  to  be  allowed  to 
conspire  for  ever  and  remain  un- 
punished !  He  fled  to  escape  im- 
prisonment. But  why  was  he  to 
be  imprisoned  ?  Because  he  was 
planning  another  rebellion,  and  he 
dared  not  remain  to  meet  the  proofs 
which  were  to  be  brought  against 
him.  The  English  took  the  whole 
province  of  Ulster  from  the  Irish, 
so  says  Father  Burke,  and  then 
stops.  He  should  have  gone  on  to 
say,  but  he  docs  not  say  it,  that  of 
the  two  million  acres  of  w^hich  the 
six  confiscated  counties  of  Ulster 
consist,  a  million  and  a  half  were 
given  back  to  the  Irish,  and  half  a 
million  only  of  the  acres  most  fit  for 
cultivation,  but  which  the  Insh  left 
uncultivated,  were  retained  for  the 
colonists.  It  has  been  half  a  million 
acres  forthe  last  two  centuries.  The 
acres  multiply  like  Falstaff^s  men 
in  buckram  as  the  myth  develops. 

They  brought  over  Scotch  and 
English  Protestants,  says  Father 
Burke,  and  made  them  swear  as 
they  did  so,  that  they  would  not 
employ  one  single  Irishman  or  one 
single  Catholic,  nor  let  them  come 
near  them.  Has  not  Father  Burke 
omitted  one  small  but  important 
expression  ?  Was  it  true  that  they 
were  not  to  employ  one  single  Irish- 
man ?  Or  an  Irishman  who  refused 
to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  ?  I 
have  not  examined  the  Charters  in 
detail  under  which  the  separate 
grants  were  held.  I  will  not  affirm 
that  there  was  no  corporation  which 
was  intended  to  be  exclusively 
Scotch  or  English.  But  I  do  know 
that  the  oath  of  allegiance  was  the 

feneral  condition.      Let  me  remind 
'ather  Burke  of  an  Act  of  Parlia- 


Address  in  Answento  Father  Burhe. 


ment  passed  at  this  very  time  by 
the  very  men  whom  he  accuses  of 
this  bitter  enmity  to  the  Irish.  It 
repeals  simply  and  for  ever  every 
law  which  had  made  a  distinction 
between  the  English  and  Irish  in- 
habitants of  the  country.  It  de- 
clares them  aU  citizens  of  a  common 
empire,  enjoying  equal  laws  and 
equal  protection.  It  expresses  a 
hope  that  thenceforward  they  would 
grow  into  one  nation  in  perfect 
agreement,  with  utter  oblivion  of 
all  former  differences.  If  you 
doubt  me,  gentlemen,  look  into  the 
Irish  Statute  Book  for  the  reign  of 
James  the  First  and  satisfy  your- 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  can  be 
proved  distinctly  that  from  the  date 
of  the  settlement  the  English  and 
Irish  did  live  together  on  these  half 
million  acres,  and  cultivated  their 
land  together.  Their  houses  and 
fields  lay  side  by  side,  they  helped 
each  other,  employed  each  other, 
grew  into  useful  social  and  kindly 
relations  with  one  another.  It  was 
this  close  intimacy,  this  seeming 
friendliness,  this  adoption  by  so 
many  of  the  Irish  of  the  laws  and 
customs  of  the  settlers,  which  con- 
stituted the  most  painful  features  in 
the  rebellion  of  164 1. 

I  pass  on  to  that  rebellion.  It  is 
by  far  the  gravest  matter  with 
which  I  have  to  deal.  It  is  the 
hinge  on  which  later  history  re- 
volves. If  Father  Burke's  version 
of  it  is  true,  then  we  English  robbed 
the  Irish  of  their  lands,  tried  to  rob 
them  of  their  religion,  massacred 
them  when  they  resisted,  slandered 
them  as  guilty  of  a  crime  which  was 
in  reality  our  own,  and  took  away 
from  them  as  a  punishment  all  the 
lands  and  liberties  which  they 
retained.  If  this  be  so,  we  owe 
them  an  instant  confession  of  our 
complicated  crimes  and  an  instant 
reparation,  such  reparation  as  we 
are  able  to  make.  If  it  be  not  true, 
then  this  cause  of  heartburning 
ought  to  be  taken  away.     I  cannot 

regret  with  Father  Burke  that  this 
wound  has  been  re-opened.  Bather 
let  it  be  probed  to  the  bottom.  Let 
the  last  drop  of  secreted  falsehood 
be  detected  and  purged  out  of  the 
history.  Again  I  must  divide  in 
two  what  I  have  to  say.  I  must 
notice  first,  what  he  says  of  the  ac- 
count given  by  me  of  these  things; 
and  next,  what  he  says  himself 
about  the  facts. 

For  my  part  of  the  business  I 
am  obliged  to  say  that  he  has 
studied  my  lectures  imaginatively. 
He  has  seen  there  what  he  wished 
to  see,  or  thought  he  saw.  Unin- 
tentionally, I  am  well  aware,  but 
under  the  influence  of  vehement 
and  natural  emotions,  he  has  mis- 
understood me  in  three  most  im- 
portant particulars. 

He  charges  me  with  defending 
the   Irish    Administration  of    the 
Earl  of  Strafford — as  having  come 
to  America  to  ask  a  great,   free 
people  to  endorse  Strafford's  des- 
potism as  just  government.    Unless 
words  be    taken,  not  to    express 
thoughts,  but  to  conceal  them,  I 
said  that  Strafford's  policy  in  L»- 
land   was    t3rrannous,    cruel,    and 
dangerous.     He  speaks  as  if    the 
Puritan    party     in    England    and 
Scotland  were  bent  on  destroying 
the    Catholics    in    Ireland.      The 
commission  which  went  from   the 
Irish   Parliament    to    London,    to 
complain  of    Strafford,   was  com- 
posed jointly  of  Protestants    and 
Catholics.      The    arraignment     of 
Strafford  was    conducted    by   the 
great  Puritan  statesman,  Pym,  and 
I  pointed  out  in  my  lectures  that 
his  administration  of  Ireland  formed 
one  of  the  most  serious  counts  on 
which  he  was   condemned.     Does 
this  look  as  if  the  complaints  of  Ire- 
land could  receive  no  attention  from 
the  Long  Parliament  ?     Does  this 
bear  out  Father  Burke  in  charging 
me  with  defending  Strafford,  and 
calling  his  conduct  just  ? 

Again,  Father  Burke  accuses  me 
of  having  said  that  the   rebellion 


Address  m  Answer  to  Father-  Burke, 


began  with  massacre,  as  if  it  was  a 
preconceived  intention.  In  a  sam- 
maiy  of  the  events  of  the  ten  years, 
I  said  generally  that  it  commenced 
with  massacre,  and  «o  it  did,  when 
the  period  is  reviewed  as  a  whole  ; 
but  in  my  account  of  what  actually 
passed,  I  said  expressly,  and  in  the 
plainest  words,  that  so  far  as  I 
conld  make  out  from  the  contra- 
dictory evidence,!  thought  the  Irish 
bad  not  intended  that  there  should 
be  bloodshed  at  all. 

Lastly,  he  accuses  me  of  having 
called  the  Irish  cowards,  and  he 
desires  me  to  take  the  word  back. 
I  cannot  take  back  what  I  never 
gave.  Father  Burke  says  that  such 
words  cause  bad  blood,  and  that  I 
may  one  day  have  cause  to  remem- 
ber them.  That  they  cause  bad 
blood  I  have  reason  to  know  al- 
ready ;  but  the  words  are  not  mine 
but  bis,  and  he  and  not  I  must 
recall  them. 

Not  once,  but  again  and  again, 
with  the  loadest  emphasis  I  have 
spoken  of  the  notorious  and  splen- 
did courage  of  Irishmen.  What  I 
said  was  this,  and  I  will  say  it  over 
again.  I  was  asking  how  it  was 
that  a  race  whose  courage  was 
above  suspicion  made  so  poor  a 
hand  of  rebellion,  and  I  answered 
mj  question  thus;  that  the  Irish 
would  fight  only  for  a  cause  in 
which  they  really  believed,  and 
that  they  were  too  shrewd  to  be 
duped  by  illusions  with  which  thev 
allowed  themselves  to  play.  I  will 
add  that  five  hundred  of  the  present 
Irish  police,  Celts  and  Catholics, 
all  or  most  of  them,  enlisted  in  the 
cause  of  order  and  good  govern- 
ment, would  walk  up  to  and  walk 
through  the  largest  mob  which  the 
so-called  patriots  could  collect  from 
the  four  Provinces  of  Ireland.  If 
it  be  to  call  men  cowards  that  under 
the  severest  trials  the  Irish  display 
the  noblest  qualities  which  do 
honour  to  hnmanity  when  they  are 
on  the  right  side,  then,  and  only 

veil.  Vn. — HO.  XXXVII.    NEW  SERIES. 

then,  have  I  questioned  the  courage 
of  Irishmen. 

So  much  for  myself — now  for  the 
facts  of  the  rebellion.  We  are 
agreed  that  on  the  23rd  of  October, 
1 64 1,  there  was  a  universal  rising 
of  the  Irish  race,  and  an  attempt 
to  expel  the  Protestant  colonists 
from  the  country.  Father  Burke  says 
the  Puritan  Lords  Justices  in  Dub- 
lin knew  that  the  rising  was  immi- 
nent, and  deliberately  allowed  it  to 
break  out.  I  must  meet  him  at  once 
with  a  distinct  denial  of  this.  The 
secret  correspondence  of  the  Lords 
Justices,  before  and  after  the  out- 
break, has  been  happily  preserved, 
and  anything  more  unlQie  the  state 
of  their  minds  than  the  idea  which 
Father  Burke  assigns  to  them  can- 
not be  imagined.  They  had  no 
troops  that  they  could  rely  upon. 
The  country  was  patrolled  by  the 
fragments  of  the  Catholic  army 
which  had  been  raised  by  Strafford 
and  afterwards  disbanded  ;  and  the 
Lords  Justices  were  in  the  utmost 
terror  of  them.  Situated  as  they 
were  they  would  have  been  simply 
mad  had  they  foreseen  what  was 
to  happen,  and  purposely  permitted 

The  Irish,  Father  Burke  says,  had 
good  reason  to  rise.  Who  denies 
it?  Certainly  not  I.  My  own 
words  were  that  it  was  the  natural 
penalty  for  past  cruelties.  But 
the  Father  will  not  have  it  to  have 
been  a  rebellion — because  he  says 
Charles  the  First  approved  of  it, 
or  would  have  approved  of  it  had 
he  been  in  a  position  to  express  an 
opinion ;  and  that  Sir  Phelim 
O'Neil,  who  headed  the  movement, 
issued  a  proclamation  that  he  was 
acting  in  the  king's  name.  That 
Charles  had  been  encouraging  some 
movement  in  Ireland  is  perfectly 
true,  but  not  that  of  Sir  Phelim 
O'Neil. — Sir  Phelim  produced  a 
commission  purporting  to  have 
been  given  to  him  by  Charles  and 
signed  with  the  Great  Seal — ^but 


Address  m  Answer  to  FcUher  Burke, 


Sir  Phelim  confessed  afterwords 
that  the  commission  was  forged, 
and  that  he  had  taken  the  Seal 
from  a  private  deed  which  lay 
among  his  muniments.  Of  this 
Father  Barke  says  nothing. 

The  Irish,  Father  Burke  acknow- 
ledges, stripped  the  Protestant  set- 
tlers  of  their   cattle,   horses,   and 
property.     Under  property,  I  sup- 
pose, he  includes  their  houses  and 
their  clothes,  for  they  were  turned 
out  of   doora,   men,   women,   and 
children,  literally  naked.     So  far, 
he  thinks  the  Irish  did  nothing  but 
what  they  had  a  right  to  do.     The 
property  of  the  setters  belonged  to 
the  Irish,  and   they  were  simply 
taking    l»ck    their    own.     When 
wild  races  who  do  not  cultivate  the 
soil  come  in  collision  with  other 
races  who  do  cultivate  it,  disputes 
ofthis  kind  continually  arise.  When 
the  native  finds  his  land,  of  which 
he  made  no  use,  taken  from  him 
under  pretexts  which  he   considers 
unjust,  his  eagerness  to  recover  it 
grows  greater  as  he  sees  it  increase 
in  value  by  the  intruder's  industry. 
From  this  point  of  view  it  is  natu- 
ral that  he  should  consider  not  the 
land  only,  but  everything  that  has 
been  raised  upon  it,  to  belong  to 
himself.     But  I  never  before  heard 
an  educated  man  maintain  such  a 
proposition  in  cool  blood.     Who- 
ever may  have  had  a  right  to  the 
land,  it  had  been  bought,  occupied, 
and  tilled  for  thirty-six  years  by 
the  settlers  without  a  word  of  ques- 
tion on  their  titles.      I  should  have 
thought  any  Irishman  who  has  had 
experience  in  later  years  of  land- 
lord evictions  would  have  recog- 
nised that  the  right  to  the  property 
raised  on  the  soil  belonged  to  those 
who  had  raised  it.    It  appears,  in 
the  Father's  opinion,  that  the  set- 
tlers and  their  families  ought  to 
have  accepted  their  fate  and  gone 
&way  without  resistance. 

Father  Burke  says  the  first  Uood 
•was  shed  by  the  Protestants.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  it  was  so. 

Men  assailed  by  mobs,  who  mean  to 
turn  them  naked  out  of  their  homes, 
are  apt  at  times  to  resist.  But  this 
is  not  what  Father  Burke  means. 
Tte  origin  of  all  the  after  horrors, 
he  says,  was  an  atrocity  committed 
by  the  Protestant  garrison  at  Car- 
rickfergus,  who,  before  any  lives 
had  been  taken  by  the  Catholics, 
sallied  out  and  destroyed  three 
thousand  Catholic  Irish  who  had 
crowded  together  in  a  place  called 
Island  Maghee.  This  story  has 
been  examined  into,  and  bears  ex- 
amination as  ill  as  other  parts  of 
the  popular  version  of  the  massacre 
— ^but  apparently  to  no  purpose. 
Out  it  comes,  round,  confident,  and 
unblushing  as  ever.  Father  Burke 
quotes  it  from  the  Protestant  his- 
torian, Leland;  therefore  he  as- 
sumes it  to  be  true.  He  pays  a 
compliment  to  Protestant  veracity ; 
but  Protestants  are  veracious  only 
when  they  speak  on  the  Catholic 
side.  Dr.  Reid,  the  author  of  the 
History  of  the  Presbyterians  in  Ire* 
lamdf  the  very  best  book,  in  my 
opinion,  which  has  ever  been  writ- 
ten on  these  matters,  shows  how 
little  Leland  knew  about  it ;  yet 
Dr.  Reid  is  not  worth  the  Father's 

The  legend,  for  such  it  is,  is  due 
to  a  misteJce  or  a  misprint  in  a  single 
short  sentence  of  Lord  Clarendon's. 
The  evidence  that  Clarendon  had 
before  him  is  now  in  Dublin,  and 
every  fibre  of  this  Island  Maghee 
story  can  be  traced.  First,  the 
number  of  the  killed  is  multiplied 
by  a  hundred.  In  revenge  for  some 
atrocious  murders  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, the  Carrickfergus  garrison 
did  attack  Island  Maghee,  and  did 
kill  there,  not  three  thousand  per- 
sons, but  thirty  persons.  Again, 
the  date  is  wrong,  and  the  date  is 
all  in  all.  1*0  fit  with  the  theory 
that  it  was  the  beginning  of  the 
mischief,  it  is  thrown  back  to  the 
beginning  of  November  1 64 1 .  The 
real  date  was  the  beginning  of 
January  1642,  and  in  January,  and 


Address  in  Answer  to  FatJier  Burke, 


long  before,  the  cotmtry  was  in 
flames  from  end  to  end.  I  wish  you 
who  are  dissatisfied  will  at  least  look 
at  what  Dr.  Reid  says  on  this  mat- 
ter; yon  will  find  yonrselves  in 
good  hands.  Colonel  AndleyMer- 
vyn,  who  was  in  Ireland  at  the 
time,  says  that,  in  his  own  county  of 
Fermanagh,  which  ho  calls  one  of  the 
best  planted  counties  with  English: 
in  the  whole  island,  by  January 
almost  all  of  them  had  been  killed. 
He  made  close  enquiry,  and  found 
that  not  one  in  twenty  had  escaped. 

Father  Burke,  following  the 
usual  Irish  Catholic  tradition,  in- 
sists on  a  commission  issued  in 
December  by  the  Dublin  Council, 
to  enquire  into  the  losses  of  the 
Scotch  and  English  settlers  by 
plunder.  Because  it  says  nothing 
of  massacres,  he  infers,  more  Hiber- 
iiicOf  that  it  denies  that  there  had 
been  any  massacre. 

Unfortunately  for  this  theory, 
there  is  a  letter,  dated  the  first  of 
December,  from  the  same  Council 
to  the  Long  Parliament,  declaring 
that  at  the  time  when  they  were 
writing,  there  were  40,000  rebels  in 
the  field,  who  were  putting  to  the 
svord  men,  women,  and  children 
that  were  Protestants,  ill-using  th^ 
women,  dashing  out  the  brains  of 
the  children  before  their  parents' 
faces.  I  avoided  before,  and  I  shall 
avoid  now,  all  details  of  this  dreadful 
subject.  If  a  tenth  part  of  the 
sworn  eyidence  be  true,  the  Irish 
acted  more  like  fiends  than  human 
beings.  I  will  q^ote  only  a  single 
page  firom  Sir  John  Temple,  a  daa- 
ttnguished  lawyer,  who  was  in  Dub- 
lin all  the  time,  and  describes  what 
be  saw  with  his  own  eyes.  Father 
Burke  insists  on  the  cruelties  of 
Sir  Charles  Gootey  in  Wicklow.  Sir 
John  Temple  will  show  you  Sir 
Charles  Coote*B  provocation.  There 
is  no  dispute,  I  must  remind  you, 
about  the  expulsion  of  the  Pro- 
testant families  from  their  homes. 
They  were  tamed  out  literally 
naked  in  the  wild  October  weftther, 

with  wisps  of  straw  or  rags,  to 
cover  them,  to  find  their  way  to  the 

Idsten  to  Sir  John  Temple. 

*  That  which  made  the  condition 
more  formidable  was  the  daily  re- 
pair of  multitudes  of  English  that 
came  up  in  troops  miserably  des- 
poiled out  of  the  North,  many  of 
good  rank  and  quality,  covered 
with  old  rags,  and  some  without 
any  covering  but  twisted  straw; 
wives  came  lamenting  the  murder 
of  their  husbands ;  mothers  of  their 
children  barbarously  destroyed  be- 
fore their  eyes;  some  sosnrbatedas 
they  came  creeping  on  their  knees, 
others  fix)zen  with  cold,  ready  to 
give  up  the  ghost  in  the  streets ; 
others  distracted  with  their  losses, 
lost  also  their  senses.  Thus  was 
the  town,  within  a  few  days  after 
the  breaking  out  of  the  rebellion, 
filled  with  these  lamentable  spec- 
tacles of  sorrow,  having  no  place  to 
lay  their  heads,  no  clothing  to  cover 
their  nakedness,  no  food  to  stay 
their  hunger.  To  add  to  their 
miseries,  the  popish  inhabitants 
revised  to  minister  the  least  com- 
fort to  them.  Many  lay  in  the 
open  streets,  and  others  under 
stacks,  and  there  miserably  perish- 
ed. Those  of  better  quality,  who- 
could  not  frame  themselves  to  be 
common  beggars,  crept  into  private 
places,  and  wasted  silently  away, 
and  died  without  noise.  I  have 
known  some  that  lay  naked,  and 
having  clothes  sent,  laid  them  by, 
refusing  to  put  them  on:  others 
would  not  stir  to  fetch  themselves 
food,  though  they  knew  where  it 
stood  ready  for  them ;  and  so,  worn 
with  misery  and  cruel  usage,  their 
spirit  spent,  their  senses  failing,  the 
greatest  part  of  the  women  and 
children  thus  barbarously  expelled 
from  their  habitations,  perished  in 
the  city  of  Dublin,  leaving  their 
bodies  as  monuments  of  the  most 
inhuman  cnielties  used  towards 

Do     you    suppose,    ladies    and 
G  2 


Address  in  Aiiswer  to  Father  Burke, 


gentlemen,  that  the  friends  and 
countrymen  of  these  poor  women 
would  have  been  in  a  very  amiable 
humour  with  such  sqpnes  before 
them  ?  Do  you  suppose  that  when 
they  knew  other  English  families 
within  reach  of  the  city  were  ex- 
posed to  the  same  treatment,  they 
ought  to  have  sat  still  and  allowed 
the  Irish  to  repeat  in  Leinster  the 
atrocities  which  they  had  perpe- 
trated in  the  North?  Coote  col- 
lected a  body  of  horse  out  of  the 
fugitive  men  who  had  crowded  into 
Dublin.  The  Irish  were  beginning 
the  same  work  in  an  adjoining 
county.  Coote  rode  into  the 
Wicklow  hills  and  gave  them  a 
lesson  that  two  parties  could  play 
at  murder.  I  do  not  excuse  him. 
But  the  question  of  questions  is, 
who  began  all  those  horrors  ?  and 
what  was  the  true  extent  of  them  ? 
Father  Burke  thinks  everything, 
short  of  murder,  which  the  Irish 
did  to  have  been  perfectly  justifi- 
.  able.  I  do  not  agree  with  him — 
but  let  that  pass.  He  says  a  Pro- 
testant has  proved  that  the  Catholics 
killed  only  2,100  people,  and  there- 
fore it  must  be  true.  Again  a  com- 
pliment to  a  Protestant — but  it  is 
a  matter  on  which  I  will  not  accept 
the  mere  opinion  of  any  one  man, 
even  if  ho  do  call  himself  Protestant. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  known 
many  Protestants  entirely  unable  to 
distinguish  truth  from  falsehood. 
rBir  William  Petty,  a  very  able, 
.cool-headed,  sceptical  sort  of  man, 
examined  all  the  evidence,  went 
himself,  within  ten  years  of  the 
events,  over  the  scene  of  the  mas- 
sacre, and  concluded,  after  careful 
consideration,  that  the  number  of 
Protestants  killed  in  the  first  six 
months  of  the  rebellion,  amounted 
to  38,000.  Clarendon  and  Coote 
give  nearly  the  same  numbers. 
Yotj,  who  would  form  an  indepen- 
dent opinion  on  the  matter,  I  would 
fidvise  to  read  (whatever  else  you 
read)  Sir  John  Temple's  history  of 
the  Rebellion,  and  Dr.   Borlase^ 

history  of  it.  Temple  was,  as  I 
said,  an  eye-witness.  Borlase's  book 
contains  in  the  appendix  large  selec- 
tions from  the  evidence  taken  on  oath 
before  Commissioners  at  Dublin. 

I  shall  stiU  be  met  with  the 
*  thundering  English  lie  '  argument ; 
and  so  &r  you  have  but  my  asser- 
tion against  Father  Burke's.  In 
my  opinion  he  treats  the  Irish 
massacre  precisely  as  he  treats  the 
Alva  massacre  and  the  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's massacre.  The  wolf 
lays  the  blame  on  the  lamb.  But 
that,  you  may  fairly  say,  is  only 
my  view  of  the  question.  Very 
well,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make, 
which  I  hope  you  wfll  indorse ;  and 
if  we  work  together,  and  if  Father 
Burke  will  help,  we  may  arrive  at 
the  truth  yet. 

Ireland  and  England  will  never 
understand  each  other  till  this  story 
is  cleared  up.  Now,  I  am  fond  of 
referring  disputed  questions  to  in- 
different tribunals.  An  enormous 
body  of  evidence  lies  still  half  ex- 
amined in  Dublin.  I  should  like  a 
competent  commission  to  be  ap- 
pointed to  look  over  the  whole 
matter  and  report  a  conclusion.  It 
should  con^st  of  men  whose  busi- 
ness is  to  deal  with  evidence — i.e. 
of  lawyers.  I  would  have  no  clergy, 
Catholic  or  Protestant.  Clergy  are 
generally  blind  of  one  eye.  I  would 
not  have  men  of  letters  or  historians 
like  myself  and  Father  Burke ;  we 
partake  of  the  clerical  infirmities  of 
disposition.  By-the-bye,  I  must 
beg  Father  Burke's  pardon.  As  a 
priest  I  have  put  him  out  of  court 
already.  I  say  I  would  have  a 
commission  of  experienced  lawyers, 
men  of  weight,  and  responsible  to 
public  opinion.  Four  Irish  judges, 
for  instaiice,  might  be  appointed — 
two  Catholic  and  two  Protestant; 
and  to  give  the  Catholics  all  advan- 
tage, let  Lord  O'Hagan,  the  Catho- 
lic Irish  Chancellor,  be  chairman. 
Let  these  five  go  through  all  the 
survivingmemorials  of  the  Rebellion 
of  1 64 1,  and  tell  us  what  it  really 


Address  in  Atiswer  to  Father  Burke, 


ma.  We  sluJl  then  have  sound 
groiind  under  na,  and  we  shall 
know  what  are  and  what  are  not 
the  thnndering  lies,  of  which  indis- 
pntahlj,  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
an  enormons  nnmher  are  now 
afloat.  I  can  conceive  nothing 
which  woold  hotter  promote  a 
reconciliation  of  England  and  Ire- 
land than  the  report  which  such  a 
commission  wonld  send  in.  If  the 
heads  of  the  Catholic  Church  in 
Ireland  wonld  combine  to  ask  for 
it,  I  conceive  that  it  could  not  be 

For  myself  I  have  but  touched 
one  point  in  twenty  relating  to  this 
business  where  my  evidence  contra- 
dicts Father  Burke.      But  I  will 
pursue  it  no  further.     A  few  words 
will  exhaust  what  I  have  to  say 
about    Cromwell.      About    him    I 
cannot  hope  to  bring  Father  Burke 
to  any  approach  to  an  agreement 
with  me.     There  are  a  few  matters 
of  fact,  however,  which  admit  of 
being  established.     Father  Burke 
Bays  that  Cromwell  meant  to  exter- 
minate  the    Irish.      I   distinguish 
again  between  the  industrious  Irish 
and  the  idle,  fighting  Irish.     He 
showed  his  intentions  towards  the 
peasantry  a  few  days  after  his  land- 
ing, for  he  hung  two  of  his  own 
troopers  for  stealing  a  hen  from  an 
old  woman.      Cromwell,   says  the 
Father,  wound  up  the  war  by  tak- 
ing 80,000  men  and  shipping  them 
to  the  sugar  plantations  in  Barba- 
does.    In  six  years,  such  was  the 
cruelty,  that  not  twenty  of  them 
were  left.      80,000    men.    Father 
Burke !  and  in  six  years  not  twenty 
left.     I   have   read    the    Thurloe 
Papers,  where  the  account  will  be 
found  of  these  shipments  to  Bar- 
badoes.    I  can  find  nothing  about 
80,000  men  there.      When    were 
tbey  Bent  out,  and  how,  and  in 
what  ships  ?    You  got  these  num- 
bers where  you  got  the  millions  of 
Dative   Irish    in  America.      Your 
figures  expand  and  contract  like  the 
tent  in  the  fairy  tale,  which  would 

either  shrink  into  a  walnut-shell  or 
cover  10,000  men  as  the  owner  of 
it  liked.  Father  Burke  says  that 
all  the  Irish  Catholic  landowners 
were  sent  into  Connaught.  Lord 
Clarendon  says  that  no  one  was 
sent  to  Connaught  who  had  not 
forfeited  his  life  by  rebellion ;  and 
next,  that  to  send  them  there  was 
the  only  way  to  save  them  from 
being  killed,  for  they  would  not 
live  in  peace.  If  an  Englishman 
strayed  a  mile  from  his  door  he  was 
murdered,  and  there  was  such  ex-  • 
asperation  with  these  fighting  Irish 
that  if  they  had  been  left  at  home 
the  soldiers  would  have  destroyed 
them  all. 

Ireland  was  made  a  wilderness, 
says  Father  Burke,  and  that  is  true 
— but  who  made  it  so  ?  The  nine 
years  of  civil  war  made  it  so— and 
it  could  not  revive  in  a  day  or  in  a 
year.  If  three  or  four  thousand 
Irish  boys  and  girls  were  sent  as 
apprentices  to  the  plantations,  it 
was  a  kindness  to  send  them  there 
in  the  condition  to  which  Ireland 
had  been  reduced;  but  when  I 
said  that  fifteen  years  of  industry 
brought  the  country  to  a  higher 
state  of  prosperity  than  it  had 
ever  attained  before,  I  am  not  an- 
swered when  I  am  told  that  it 
was  miserable  when  the  settlers  had 
been  at  work  only  for  four  years. 
I  will  refer  Father  Burke,  and  I 
will  refer  you,  to  the  Life  of  Claren- 
don, if  you  wish  to  see  what  the 
Cromwellian  settlement  made  of 
Ireland.  Clarendon  hated  Crom- 
well and  would  allow  nothing  in  his 
favour  that  he  could  help.  Bead 
it  then  and  see  which  is  right — 
Father  Burke  or  I. 

Never  before  had  Ireland  paid 
the  expenses  of  its  government.  It 
was  now  able  to  settle  a  permanent 
revenue  on  Charles  II.  In  1665, 
when  many  estates  were  restored 
to  Catholic  owners,  the  difficulty 
was  in  apportioning  the  increased 
value  which  Puritan  industry  had 
given  to  those  estates. 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


It  is  true  that  the  priests  were 
ordered  by  Cromwell  to  leave  the 
coimtry.  Father  Burke  says  that 
a  fine  was  set  on  the  heads  of 
those  that  remained.  In  a  sense 
that  too  is  true ;  but  in  what  sense  P 
A  thousand  went  away  to  Spain — 
of  those  that  remained  and  refused 
to  go— of  those  who  passively  stayed, 
and  did  not  conceal  themselves,  and 
allowed  the  Government  to  know 
where  they  were — some  were  ar- 
rested and  sent  to  Barbadoes — some 
were  sent  to  the  Irish  Islands  on 
the  west  coast,  and  a  sum  of  money 
was  allowed  them  for  maintenance. 
Harsh  measures.  But  Father  Burke 
should  be  exact  in  his  a<;count. 
Those  who  went  into  the  moun- 
tains and  lived  with  the ,  outlaws 
shared  the  outlaws'  fate.  They  were 
making  themselves  the  companions 
of  what  Bnglishmen  call  banditti — 
what  the  Irish  call  patriots.  I  don't 
think  any  way  they  were  a  good 
kind  of  patriots.  It  is  true  that  a 
price  was  set  on  the  heads  of  those 
who  absolutely  refused  to  submit. 
It  was  found  too  &tally  successful 
a  mode  of  ending  with  them .  Father 
Burke  quotes  a  passage  from  Major 
Morgan,  I  will  quote  another: — 
*  The  Irish,'  he  said,  *  bring  in  their 
comrades'  heads.  Brothers  and 
cousins  cut  each  other's  throats.' 

Mr.  Prendergast,  the  latest  and 
most  accomplished  historian  of  those 
times,  a  man  of  most  generous  dis- 
position and  passionately  Irish  in 
his  sentiments,  alluding  to  these 
words  of  Major  Morgan,  makes  a 
comment  on  them,  which  tempts 
me  to  abandon  in  despair  the  hope 
of  understanding  the  Irish  cha« 

'  No  wonder  they  betrayed  each 
other,'  he  says,  '  because  they  had 
no  longer  any  public  cause  to  main- 

I  shall  notice  but  one  point  more. 

In  speaking  of  the  American  re- 
volution, I  said  that  a  more  active 
sympathy  was  felt  at  that  time  for 
the  American  cause  by  the  Pro- 

testants of  the  North  of  Ireland  than 
by  the  Catholics,  and  that  more 
active  service  was  done  in  America 
by  the  Anglo-Scotch  Irish,  who 
emigrated  thither  in  the  eighteenllL 
century,  than  by  the  representatives 
of  the  old  race.  Do  not  think  that 
I  grudge  any  Irishman  of  any  per- 
suasion the  honour  of  having  struck 
a  blow  at  their  common  oppressors 
when  the  opportunity  offered.  I 
was  mentioning,  however,  what 
was  matter  of  fact,  and  I  wished  to 
remind  Americans  that  there  is  a 
Protestant  Ireland  as  well  as  a 
Catholic — ^with  which  at  one  time 
they  had  intimate  relations. 

There  is  distinct  proof  that  dar- 
ing a  great  part  of  the  last  century 
there  was  a  continual  Protestant 
emigration  from  Ireland  to  this 
country.  Archbishop  Boulter  speaks 
earnestly  about  it  in  his  letters,  and 
states  positively  that  it  was  an 
emigration  of  Protestants  only — 
that  it  did  not  affect  the  Catholics. 
So  grave  a  matter  it  was  that  it 
formed  the  subject  of  long  and 
serious  debates  in  the  Irish  Parlia- 
ment. The  Catholic  emigration 
meanwhile  was  to  France.  A  few 
CathoHc  peasants  may  have  come 
to  America  after  the  Whiteboy 
risings  in  1760,  but  I  have  seen  no 
notice  of  it.  Likely  enough  Catholic 
soldiers  deserted  from  the  regiments 
sent  out  from  Ireland.  Likely 
enough  gallant  Irish  Catholic  gentle- 
men from  the  French  and  Spanish 
armies  may  have  gone  over  and 
taken  service  wikh  you.  I  admire 
them  all  the  more  if  they  did.  But 
after  allowing  all  this,  out  of  every 
ten  Irishmen  in  America  at  the 
time  of  the  Revolution  there  must 
have  been  nine  Protestants.  While 
as  to  the  Catholics  in  Ireland  (I 
would  say  no  more  on  this  subject 
if  Father  Burke  had  not  called  on 
me  for  an  explanation),  I  can  only 
say  that  while  the  correspondence 
of  the  viceroy  expresses  the  deepest 
anxiety  at  the  attitude  of  the 
Presbyterians,  no  hint  is  dropped 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


of  any  fear  from  the  rest  of  the 
popoIatioB.  Father  Burke  qaes- 
tions  my  knowledge  of  the  facts, 
and  quotes  &om  McNeven  that  there 
were  16,000  Irish  in  the  American 
ranks.  I  shonld  have  thought  that 
there  had  been  more — ^but  Father 
Burke  in  claiming  them  for  the 
Catholics  is  playing  with  the  name 
of  Irishman. 

I  quoted  a  loyal  address  to 
George  III.  signed  in  the  name  of 
the  whole  body  by  the  leading  Irish 
Caihohcs.  Father  Burke  says  that, 
though  fulsome  in  its  tone,  it  con- 
tains no  words  about  America. 
As  he  meets  me  with  a  contradic- 
tion, I  can  but  insist  that  I  copied 
the  words  which  I  read  to  you  from 
the  original  in  the  State  Paper 
Office,  and  I  will  read  one  or  two 
sentences  of  it  again.  The  address 
declares  that  the  Catholics  of  Tre- 
laod  abhorred  the  unnatural  rebel- 
lion against  hie  Majesty  which  had 
broken  out  among  his  American 
subjects,  that  they  laid  at  his  feet 
two  milhon  loyal,  faithful,  and 
affectionate  hearts  and  hands,  ready 
to  exert  themselves  against  his 
Majesty's  enemies  in  any  part  of 
the  world,  that  their  loyalty  had 
been  always  as  the  dial  to  the  sun, 
trae  though  not  shone  upon. 

Father  Burke  is  hasty  in  telling 
me  that  I  am  speaking  of  a  matter 
of  which  I  am  ignorant,  but  I  will 
pursue  it  no  further,  nor  but  for  his 
challenge  would  I  have  returned 
to  it.  Both  he  and  I  are  now  in 
the  rather  ridiculous  position  of 
contending  which  of  our  respec- 
tive friends  were  most  disloysd  to 
our  own  Government. 

Here  I  must  leave  him.  I  leave 
untouched  a  large  number  of  blots 
which  I  had  marked  for  criticism, 
but  if  I  have  not  done  enough  to 
him  already,  I  shall  waste  my 
wordg  with  trying  to    do  more; 

and  for  the  future  as  long  as  I  re- 
main in  America,  neither  he,  if  he 
returns  to  the  charge,  nor  any  other 
assailant  must  look  for  further 
answer  from  me. 

His  own  knowledge  of  his  sub- 
ject is  wide  and  varied ;  but  I  can 
compare  his  workmanship  to  no* 
thing  so  well  as  to  one  of  the  lives 
of  his  own  Irish  Saints,  in  which 
legend  and  reality  are  so  strangely 
blended  that  the  true  aspects  of 
things  and  characters  can  no  longer 
be  discerned. 

I  believe  that  I  have  shown  that 
this  is  the  true  state  of  the  case, 
though  from  the  state  of  Father 
Burke's  ndnd  upon  the  subject,  he 
may  be  unaware  precisely  of  what 
has  happened  to  him. 

Any  way  I  hope  that  we  may 
now  part  in  good  humour ;  we  may 
differ  about  the  past;  about  the 
present,  and  for  practical  objects,  I 
believe  we  are  agreed.  He  loves 
the  Irish  peasant,  and  so  do  I.  I 
have  been  accused  of  having  no- 
thing practical  to  propose  for  Ire- 
land. I  have  something  extremely 
practical ;  I  want  to  see  the  peasants 
taken  from  under  the  power  of  their 
landlords,  and  made  answerable  to 
no  authority  but  the  law.  It  would 
not  be  difficult  to  define  for  what 
offence  a  tenant  might  legally  be 
deprived  of  his  holding.  He  ought 
not  to  be  dependent  on  the  caprice 
of  any  individual  man.  If  Father 
Burke  and  his  friends  vnll  help  in 
that  way,  instead  of  agitating  for  a 
separation  from  Engknd,  I  would 
sooner  find  myself  working  with 
him  than  against  him.  If  he  will 
forget  my  supposed  hatred  to  his 
religion,  and  will  accept  the  hand 
which  I  hold  out  to  bun,  I  can  as- 
sure him  that  the  hatred  of  which 
he  speaks,  like  some  other  things, 
has  no  existence  except  in  his  own 




AMONG  the  many  services  ren- 
dered' to  English  literature 
by  Mr.  Arber  in  prodacing  his 
series  of  English  Reprints,  not  the 
least  is  his  issue  of  the  Paston  Letters, 
under  the  able  editorship  of  Mr. 
James  Grairdner.  The  literary  his- 
tory of  this  famous  collection  is 
itself  a  curiosity.  Valuable  alike 
to  the  antiquary,  the  student  of 
social  manners,  and  to  the  historian 
of  a  period  of  which  there  are  but 
few  memorials,  these  Letters,  after 
having  lain  almost  unheeded  for 
three  centuries,  excited  so  great  an 
interest  on  their  first  appearance  to 
the  world  in  1787,  that  the  whole 
edition  of  the  first  portion  pub- 
lished was  sold  within  a  week. 
Horace  Walpole  was  delighted  with 
them;  and  the  King  having  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  see  the  originals, 
the  editor,  Mr.  Fenn,  generously 
presented  them  to  his  Majesty  in 
three  volumes  (being  part  only  of 
the  whole),  for  which  he  received  the 
honour  of  knighthood.  Unfortunate 
gift!  for  these  three  MS.  volumes 
are  not  now  to  be  found  among  the 
Library  of  Greorge  III.  in  its  home 
in  the  British  Museum,  but  have 
disappeared,  the  tradition  being 
that  '  they  were  last  seen  in  the 
hands  of  Queen  Charlotte,  who  it  is 
supposed  must  have  lent  them  to 
one  of  her  ladies  in  attendance.' 
It  is  to  be  hoped,  for  the  honour  of 
womanly  curiosity,  that  this  suppo- 
sition may  one  day  be  cleared  up. 

Fenn  published  in  all  four  vo- 
lumes, two  in  1787  and  two  in  1789; 
and  left,  on  his  death  in  1 794,  a  fifth 
volume  ready  for  the  press,  which 
was  not,  however,  printed  till  1823, 
by hisnephew Mr.  Serjeant Frere.  By 
that  time  all  the  originals,  strangely 
enough,  were  missing,  even  those 
of  the  fifth  volume.  But  Fenn  had 
(as  has  been  lately  shown)  done 

his  work  of  transcribing  and  pre- 
paration throughout  with  suck  mi- 
nute and  painstaking  care,  that  the 
want  of  the  originals  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  felt,  and  historian  afler 
historian  has  made  unquestioning 
use  of  the  materials  thus  thrown 
open,  resting  on  the  good  faith  of 
the  upright  editor.  And  it  does 
not  seem  that  this  confidence  has 
been  misplaced.  In  the  ForttiigJitly 
Review  for  September  i,  1865,  Mr. 
Herman  Merivale  for  the  first  time 
cast  doubts  upon  the  authenticity 
of  the  Fasten  Letters,  questioning 
whether  they  are  *  entirely  genuine, 
without  adulteration  by  modern 
^ands,'  and  making  various  objec- 
tions to  their  value  and  truth.  This 
not  only  produced  in  the  following 
month  a  reply  from  Mr.  Gairdner, 
who  had  made  the  Letters  his  spe- 
cial study,  convincingly  meeting 
doubts  and  objections,  and  explain- 
ing difficulties  from  the  volumes  as 
they  stood,  but  led  to  the  discovery 
shortly  afterwards,  in  Mr.  Frere's 
house,  of  the  originals  of  Volume  V. 
As  the  late  Mr.  J.  Bruce  describes, 
'inclosed  in  a  little  paper  case, 
which  somehow  or  other  Mr.  Ser- 
jeant overlooked,  there  were  in 
his  possession  these  hundred  and 
twelve  papers,  ail  arranged  in  per- 
fect order,  prepared  with  the  g^reat- 
est  care,  and  marked  by  Sir  J.  Fenn 
with  neat  pencil  memoranda.  They 
were  found  in  a  box  of  Sir  J.  Fenn's/ 
together  with  about  two  hundred 
and  seventy  other  papers.  The  im- 
portance  of  setting  at  rest  all  doubts 
being  evident,  these  papers  now 
underwent  a  strict  examination  at 
the  hands  of  a  Committee  composed 
of  eminent  members  of  the  Society  of 
Antiquaries,  and  a  close  comparison 
with  Fenn's  print  of  them :  the  re- 
sults of  which  were,  on  the  count 
of  their  being  really  genuine,  the 

>  7%e  Paston  Letters.     A  New  Edition.    Edited  by  James  Gaiidner,  of  the  Public 
Becoid  Office.    VoL  I.  Henry  VI.  1422-61.    Arber's  Keprinta,  London,  1872. 


New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters. 


strong  testimony  that  'a  minute 
inspectioii  of  eveiy  one  of  the  mann- 
Bcripte,  without  the  discoTerjr  of  any 
single  circnmstance  which  could 
create  a  doubt,  has  produced  in  the 
minds  of  the  members  of  the  Com- 
mittee the  most  unhesitating  cer- 
tainty upon  this  point;'  and  as 
regards  Fenn's  work,  *that  the 
errors  are  very  few,  and  for  the 
most  part  trivial;'  while  the  charge 
of  interpolation  or  garbling  was  in- 
dignantly repelled  by  Mr.  Bruce. 
WLen  so  much  can  be  proved  of 
the  posthumous  volume,  which  had 
not  the  benefit  of  correction  by  the 
practised  eye  of  its  editor,  the  in- 
ference is  that  the  earlier  volumes 
will  be  certainly  not  less  trust- 
worthy. On  the  whole,  the  weight 
of  evidence  and  argument  before  the 
finding  of  Mr.  Frere's  manuscripts 
was  in  favour  of  the  authenticity  of 
the  Paston  Letters;  it  amounted 
after  that  discovery  to  a  certainty, 
which  no  one  at  all  familiar  with 
the  methods  of  handwriting,  Ian- 
goage,  and  forms  of  composition  of 
older  English  manuscripts  can  with- 

The  story  does  not  end  here.  The 
separation  of  the  members  of  this 
precbus  collection  of  manuscripts 
has  been  so  cruel  that  they,  are 
fonnd  in  different  places;  twenty 
letters  are  at  the  Bodleian  Library 
in  the  Douoe  collection,  two  rough 
Tolomes  of  Fastolf  and  Paston  ma- 
nnscripts  are  in  the  great  reposi- 
tory of  the  late  Sir  T.  Phillipps 
(now  belonging  to  his  daughter), 
*  single  letters,  which  once  formed 
part  of  it,  occasionally  turn  up  at 
aactions,  and  some  have  been  sold 
to  foreign  purchasers,'  while  the 
large  number  found  by  Mr.  Frere 
^  1865,  including  the  hundred 
and  twelve  originals  of  Volume  V., 
are  now  safely  deposited  in   the 

British  Museum.  It  is  much  to  be 
wished  that  the  whole  of  the  known 
relics  of  the  Paston  Letters,  as  well 
as  others  that  may  hereafter  be  dis- 
covered, may  sooner  or  later  find 
their  fitting  home  in  the  National 

The  difficulties,  then,  in  the  way 
of  a  conscientious  editor,  anxious  to 
glean  all  assistance  from  a  reference 
to  the  minutisd  of  his  originals,  were 
great.  A  careful  and  comprehen- 
sive study  of  the  whole  of  the 
Letters,  together  with  a  rare  know- 
ledge of  the  politics  and  the  course 
of  history  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
had  long  ago  made  it  apparent  that, 
while  individually  &ithful  to  tihe 
manuscripts,  Fenn  had  in  many  in- 
stances made  errors  as  to  their 
chronology,  while  the  whole  of  his 
collection  was  wanting  in  unity  and 
harmony  of  arrangement.  The 
reason  of  this  seems  to  be,  as  Mr. 
Bruce  explains,  that  Fenn  selected 
some  letters  from  each  chronolo- 
gical parcel  for  his  first  experimental 
publication;  that  for  the  second,  he 
also  made  a  further  selection ;  and  that 
finding  still  some  papers  of  interest 
remaining  in  each  parcel,  he  chose 
out  one  hundred  and  twelve  of  these 
for  a  last  and  fifth  volume.  Thus 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  the  re- 
lations of  one  to  another  are  not 
always  correct.  The  discovery  of 
the  box  of  letters  at  Mr.  Frere's 
house  seemed  to  present  a  good  oc- 
casion for  recasting  the  whole  in  a 
new  edition,  in  which  errors  of  date 
should  be  rectified,  broken  links 
joined,  and  to  which  large  additions 
could  be  made,  with  the  benefit  of 
the  increased  facilities  now  at  com- 
mand for  the  accurate  study  of 
ancient  documents. 

The  first  volume  now  brought 
out  accordingly  contains  nearly  two 
hundred  new  letters    and  papers 

'  Those  curious  in  the  details  of  the  histoiy  here  slightly  sketched  are  referred  to  the 
FoHwghtly  Esview,  Rrst  Series— Nos.  viii.  and  xi. ;  Mr.  Brace's  excellent  paper,  and 
the  Report  of  the  Committee  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  both  printed  in  Archaclogia, 
^]'  xiL,  toeether  with  the  collateral  testimony  borne  by  Mr.  K.  Almack  in  a  letter 
pnnted  in  the  same  volume. 


New  Edition  of  tlie  Paston  Letters. 


given  either  in  extenso  or  in  short  ab- 
stract, and  dovetailed  in  with  those 
reprinted  from  Fenn;  the  whole, 
amounting  to  nearly  fonr  hundred, 
belong  to  the  reign  of  Henry  VI., 
A.D.  1422  to  1 46 1.  Besides  bring- 
ing his  exact  histoncal  knowledge 
to  bear  upon  the  text  and  chrono- 
logy, the  editor  has  prefixed  a  valu- 
ble  Introduction,  in  which  he  gives 
particulars  as  to  the  Paston  family, 
and  what  he  modestly  calls  'a 
political  survey'  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  VI.  from  his  marriage  to  the 
disastrous  end. 

In  the  story  of  the  Fastens  we 
see  one  of  those  which  show  that  in 
former  times,  as  well  as  in  modern 
days,  a  family  could  rise  from 
small  beginnings,  and  attain  by  the 
industry,  individual  genius,  or  force 
of  character  of  some  of  its  members, 
to  wealth,  honour,  and  position. 
Known  as  small  gentry  before  the 
days  of  Henry  VI.,  the  Pastons 
soon  became  of  importance  in  their 
county,  Norfolk,  and  later,  in  the 
service  of  their  coimtry,  till  having 
reached  the  peerage  their  line  ended 
in  1732,  in  the  person  of  the  second 
Earl  of  Yarmouth.  And  among  the 
family  none  seems  to  have  con- 
tributed so  much  to  build  up  their 
fortunes  as  the  *  Good  Judge,*  Wil- 
liam Paston,  of  the  days  of  Henry 
VI.,  who  (though  we  are  now 
taught  to  call  him  by  his  plain  title 
of  esquire,  instead  of  that  of  knight, 
to  which  he  appears  to  have  had  no 
claim)  stood  high  in  trust  and  in 
his  profession;  he  bought  much 
property  in  the  county,  part  of 
which,  Oxnead,  in  course  of  time 
became  the  principal  seat  of  the 
family.  It  adds  an  interest  to  his 
name  to  find  it  connected  with  that 
of  Thomas  Chaucer,  the  son  of  the 
poet,  from  whom  he  purchased  the 
manor  of  Gresham.  Speculation 
may  curiously  wonder  whether  it 
was.  in  his  country  house  here  that 
the  chief  butler  to  Henry  V.  turned 
over  those  papers  and  relics  of  his 
immortal  father  out  of  which  the 
Cook's  Tale  is   supposed  to  have 

come  forth.  Another  Paston,  Cle— 
ment,  was  an  eminent  naval  com* 
mander  and  soldier  in  the  time  orT 
Henry  VIII.  and  Mary.  But  to  go 
back  to  the  times  of  the  Letters, 
the  Judge's  wife  Agnes,  who  wrote 
to  him  the  *good  tidings  of  tho 
coming  and  the  bringing  home  o£ 
the  gentlewoman'  who  was  to  be 
his  daughter-in-law,  and  who  begged 
him  to  bring  for  the  young  lady  *  a 
gown  of  a  goodly  blue,  or  else  of  a. 
bright  sanguine,'  to  add  to  hex- 
mother's  gift  of  a  goodly  fur ;  that 
daughter-in-law  herself,  Marg^et, 
the  brave  and  devoted  wife  of  John 
Paston  for  six-and-twenty  years  ; 
John,  the  trusted  adviser  of  Sir 
John  Fastolf,  with  his  own  troubles 
in  the  possession  of  his  rights  ;  his 
sister  Elizabeth,  anxious  to  get 
married  to  escape  the  hard  disci- 
pline of  her  mother;  the  able  bat 
thrifty  Fastolf;  all,  though  old 
friends,  stand  in  these  pages  with 
fresh  life  and  colour  in  the  linea- 
ments of  portraits  somewhat  ob- 
scured by  the  mists  of  time. 

But  it  is  in  their  connection  with 
English  history,  notwithstanding 
tho  assertion  that  'no  additions 
whatever  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
politics  of  that  most  obscure  age 
has  been  made  through  '  them,  that 
tho  letters  and  papers  of  the  Pastons 
and  their  numerous  correspondents 
possess  an  importance  which  in- 
creases in  interest  as  they  are 
studied.  It  is  true  that  we  gain 
some  highly  interesting  glimpses 
into  the  side- walks  of  the  history  of 
this  period  from  one  or  two  other 
collections  of  letters,  such  as  the 
Stonor  Papers  ;  the  ShiUingford 
correspondence  in  1447-8,  where 
the  shrewd  and  energetic  Mayor  of 
Exeter  shows  us  how  an  important 
suit  should  be  conduoted  in  high 
quarters,  and  admits  us  to  the 
*  ynner  chamber '  of  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor at  Lambeth  if  we  put  our- 
selves *yn  presse'  with  hiim;  and 
the  domestic  correspondence  of  the 
Plumpton  family,  of  Yorkshire,  from 
1460  to  1 551,  for  which,  however, 


New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters. 


tbe  editor  only  claims  that  they 
*  contain  much  that  is  of  interest 
to  the  general  I'eader,  as  leading 
him  to  an  exact  knowledge  of  the 
social  condition  of  the  English 
gentry ;  '  bnt  these  groups  of 
p^rs  do  not  approach  the  Paston 
Letters  in  variety  and  extent,  and 
are  confined  in  their  range  of  view. 
To  appreciate  the  bearings  of  these 
on  EbigHsh  history  the  general 
reader  needs  a  sketch  of  the  political 
events  of  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
centaiy,  into  which  shall  be  wrought, 
together  with  the  great  leading  cha- 
racters then  Buccessively  treading 
the  stage,  and  the  great  events 
bronght  about  by  their  actions,  the 
state  of  feeling  among  the  people, 
and  the  influence  which  this,  com- 
bined with  local  jealousies,  had  upon 
the  fortunes  of  a  private  family  like 
the  P&stons.  Such  a  sketch  Mr. 
Gairdner  provides,  nor  does  he  for- 
get now  and  then  to  point  out  the 
constitutional  aspects  of  questions 
that  have  forced  themselves  on  his 

The  loss  of  the  English  possessions 
in  Normandy,  the  consequent  un- 
popularity of  the  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
and  his  subsequent  murder  (for  the 
account  of  which  history  is  indebted 
to  John  Paston's  friend  Lomner), 
heavy  taxation  and  general  injustice, 
a^  placed  in  the  sequence  of  the 
caoBes  which  led  up  to  the  rebellion 
of  Jack  Cade,  '  a  movement  which 
we  must  not  permit  ourselves  to 
look  upon  as  a  vulgar  outbreak  of  the 
rabble,'  and  which  is  proved  to  have 
been  conntenanced  by  many  of  good 
position.  The  story  of  this  move- 
ment and  <rf  its  *  Captain  of  Kent,' 
tod  of  two  successive  *  Captains ' 
^i^herto  unnoticed  by  historians, 
with  evidence  of  risings  in  different 
pwta  of  the  country,  indicate  the 
tronbloos  times  in  which  two  at 
Ifisst  of  the  letter  writers  were 
seriously  engaged. 
We  have  it  put  before  us  in  a 

connected  narrative  how  the  weak- 

ness of  the  Government  and  the  ill- 
management  of  the  revenues — which 
ended  in  the  almost  total  loss  in 
1451  of  the  French  possessions,  and 
brought  back  from  Ireland,  to  be 
ready  to  take  his  stand  at  the  helm 
of  afiaird,  the  able  and  moderate 
Duke  of  York,  the  only  man  at  this 
time  who  seems  to  have  been  fit  to 
govern — ^were  the  cause  of  much 
miscarriage  of  justice  in  the  country, 
as  exemplified  in  the  contest  of  John 
Paston  with  Lord  Moleynes  and  his 
advisers,  Tuddenham  and  Heydon. 
The  riotous  proceedings  of  Charles 
Nowell  and  his  gang  in  Norfolk, 
too,  were  then  possible,  *  outrages ' 
which  we  are  told  'were  not  the 
works  of  lawless  brigands,'  but 
*  were  merely  the  effects  of  party 
spirit.*  The  controversy  between 
York  and  Somerset — ^hated  for  his 
maladministration  in  Normandy — 
in  which,  though  York  exhibited 
his  detailed  articles  of  accusation  ^ 
against  his  opponent,  Somerset 
gained  the  upper  hand  for  a  time, 
immediately  precedes  the  extra- 
ordinary blank  in  our  knowledge 
of  internal  affairs  in  1452-3.  But 
the  royal  progress  which  it  is  known 
the  Kmg  made  in  that  year  seems  to 
have  finished  with  a  visit  to  the 
Duke  of  York  at  Ludlow ;  and  Sir 
John  Fastolf,  to  whom  William  Wor- 
cester, alias  Botoner,  was  secretary, 
is  found  soon  after  lending  money 
to  York  upon  the  security  of  some 
of  his  jewellery. 

Then  in  August  1453  came  the 
sad  illness  of  the  King,  and  later 
those  two  scenes  which  stand  out 
from  the  old  records  with  such 
pathetic  interest,  of  the  Queen  pre- 
senting his  first-bom  babe  to  the 
unconscious  King,  and  of  the  grave 
deputation  from  the  Lords  in  their 
anxious  but  vain  endeavour  to  ob- 
tain recognition :  '  they  could  have 
no  answer,  word  ne  sign,  and  there- 
fore, with  sorrowful  hearts,  came 
their  way;'  scenes  only  equalled 
by  the  touching  interviews  recorded 

*  Now  first  printed,  £roia  the  Cottonian  MSS. 


New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters. 


by  Paston's  friend  Clere,  when  at 
CbristanaB  1454  the  King  recovered 
his  faculties.  The'  constitutional 
difficulties  created  bj  the  imbecility 
of  the  head  of  the  State  were  great, 
but  the  appointment  of  York  as 
Protector  in  April  1454  brought 
something  like  order  into  the  state 
of  affairs,  and  a  vigour  unknown 
for  years.  It  was  soon  after  this 
that  William  Paston,  writing  to  his 
brother  in  Norfolk  of  the  intended 
visit  of  Fastolf,  tells  him  that  *  the 
Duke  of  Somerset  is  still  in  prison, 
in  worse  case  than  he  was ; '  whence 
he  was  set  free  on  the  King's  re- 
storation to  health,  to  be  slain  in 
the  collision  at  St.  Alban's,  May 

22,  1455- 

We  must  not  linger  over  the 
events  of  this  unhappy  period, 
which  are  worked  out  with  care 
and  minuteness,  and  upon  several 
obscure  points  of  which  fresh  light 
is  thrown  by  the  aid  of  new  mate- 
rials. The  whole  aspect  of  the  civil 
war  comes  before  us  in  the  remarks 
on  the  claim  of  York  to  the  throne. 
*  Though  the  step  was  undoubtedly 
a  bold  one,  never  perhaps  was  a 
high  course  of  action  more  strongly 
suggested  by  the  results  of  past 
experience.  After  ten  miserable 
years  of  fluctuating  policy,  the 
attainted  Yorkists  were  now  for 
the  fourth  time  in  possession  of 
power;  but  who  could  tell  that 
they  would  not  be  a  fourth  time 
set  aside  and  proclaimed  as  trai- 
tors ?  For  yet  a  fourth  time  since 
the  fall  of  Suffolk,  England  might 
be  subjected  to  the  odious  rule  of 
favourites  under  a  well-intentioned 
king,  whoso  word  was  not  to  be 
relied  on.'  Through  the  alterna- 
tions of  health  and  sickness  of  the 
King,  the  dissensions  between  the 
great  Lords  and  the  Queen,  the  mis- 
government  of  the  country  at  home 

and  abroad,  the  wretched  days  of 
Ludlow,  Bloreheath,  and  North- 
ampton, the  story  winds  its  way^ 
telling  as  it  goes  along  the  hopes 
and  fears  of  the  Pastons  and  their 
connections.  Friar  Brackley  writes 
how  my  Lord  of  York  has  been 
written  to,  *to  ask  grace  for  a 
sheriff  the  next  year.'  Master 
William  Worcester  studies  French 
and  grumbles  at  his  master's  stin- 
giness, every  now  and  then  giving 
a  sly  hit  at  political  affairs,  while 
old  Sir  John  Fastolf  is  preparing  to 
make  his  peace  with  Heaven  by  the 
foundation  of  a  religious  college  at 
Caister  after  his  death.  With  that 
event,  which  took  place  on  the  5th  of 
November,  1459,  this  volume  closes, 
leaving  the  hope  that  the  tale  may 
be  taken  up  in  like  manner  with  the 
remaining  letters. 

We  have  but  space  to  refer  to 
one  constitutional  problem  touched 
upon,  on  which  Mr.  Gairdner's 
words  may  well  at  the  present  day 
be  suggestive.  Speaking  of  the  re- 
lative power  of  the  Houses  of  Lords 
and  Ck)mmons,  when  it  became  ne- 
cessary to  form  a  government  in 
place  of  the  imbecile  King,  he  says, 
*'  The  influence  which  the  House  of 
Commons  has  in  later  times  ac- 
quired is  a  thing  not  directly  re- 
cognised by  the  Constitution,  but 
only  due  to  the  control  of  the  na- 
tional purse-strings.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, the  House  of  Commons  is  not  a 
legislative  body  at  all,  but  only  an 
en^e  for  votmg  supplies.'  How 
is  it  then  that  (to  name  no  other 
instances)  in  1455  the  Commons, 
having  presented  a  petition  or 
*  grievance,'  would  proceed  to  no 
other  business  till  that  was  com- 
plied with  ?  In  this  presenting  of 
'petitions'  lies  the  kernel  of  the 

L.  TouLMiN  Smith. 




By  Edwin  Ransom,  F.R.A.S.  F.R.G.S. 

AFTER  making  some  acquaint- 
ance with  St.  Petersburg, 
Moscow,  and  Nijni  Novgorod,  I  left 
the  latter  port  on  August  i8,  1870, 
with  a  through  ticket  for  Petrovsk, 
on  the  Caspian.  I  had  the  services 
of  a  courier  who  had  been  twice  with 
English  trayellers  in  Caucasus. 

The  right  bank  of  the  Volga  is 
often  picturesque,  though  never  so 
high,  broken,  or  wooded,  as  at 
Nijni  Novgorod.  The  great  towns 
at  which  the  eteamer  stopped, 
thongh  of  course  partaking  of  the 
unhemptness  of  all  Russia  and  the 
Russians,  possess  handsome  fea- 
tures, and  promise  well  for  the 
fatnre.  Astrakhan — one  of  the  first 
names  one  learns  in  geography — 
marked  so  large  and  alone  on  the 
map,  is  far  less  in  sis^  and  in  in- 
terest than  some  of  the  river  towns. 
Flat  it  is  and  sandy,  among  vast 
sand  flats,  which  produce  water- 
melons and  cucumbers  utterly  in- 
nnmerous  for  the  vegetable-eating 

Government  may  make  the  moun- 
tain lines  of  Caucasus  and   Ural 
the  boundaries  between  Asiatic  and 
European     provinces,    and    carto- 
graphers may  colour  their  maps  on 
a  similar  rule,  but    the  traveller 
mast  feel  himself  quite  in  Asia  when 
he  Bees  the  nomadc  Kalmuks  with 
their  skin  tents  on  both  sides  the 
great  river,  when  he   meets  their 
queer,  flat,  featureless  faces  on  the 
steamer  and  in  the  bazar  at  Astrak- 
han, and  stiU  more  when  he  finds 
himself  immersed  in  Mahometan- 
ism   in   Daghestan,    where   every 
feature  of  life   and    civilisation  is 
Oriental  excepting  the  Russian  sol- 
dier and  the  Russian  post. 
Near  most  of  the  Caspian  ports 

the  sea  is  shallow  and  open,  so  that 
anchorage  is  impossible  in  windy 
weather.  From  Astrakhan  all  mer- 
chandise and  passengers  are  con- 
veyed some  70  miles  across  the 
delta  between  the  river  steamers 
and  the  sea  steamers  in  vessels  of 
lighter  draught.  Besides  this  na- 
tural detriment  to  Astrakhan  as  an 
entrep6t,  any  bad  weather  on  the 
Caspian  hinders  commerce  and  re- 
stricts the  navigation  season,  which 
begins  among  the  ice-floes  in  May, 
and  ends  in  autumn  through  short- 
ness of  water,  fogs,  or  frost.  A 
railway  between  the  two  seas  from 
Poti  to  Tiflis  and  the  good  harbour 
of  Baku  will  be  an  incalculable  help 
to  the  commerce  between  East  and 

Tartars,  Armenians,  and  Per- 
sians are  numerous  in  Astrakhan. 
If  the  former  continue  successful  in 
effecting  a  cross  with  the  Georgians, 
may  we  not  hope  for  fewer  of  the 
tiny  eyes  and  almost  imperceptible 
noses,  and  more  of  such  high  quali- 
ties as  mark  the  Kazan  Tartars  in 
the  offices  and  hotels  of  St.  Peters- 
burg and  Moscow  ?  Since  Persia 
ruled  the  countries  west  of  the 
Caspian,  the  snivelling  Persian  mer- 
chant tracks  the  steps  of  trade,  and 
the  sturdy  Persian  labourer  finds 
employ  where  the  less  able  Russian 
or  the  less  willing  native  often 
grumble  and  starve. 

The  voyage  from  Astrakhan  to 
the  sea  steamer  is  most  tedious. 
During  the  night  the  fiery  tail  of 
sparks  from  the  chimney  of  the 
tug  steamer  leads  the  way,  and  the 
day  reveals  nothing  but  boundless 
swamps  with  banks  of  reeds.  Peli- 
cans, cormorants,  and  other  sea- 
fowl  occasionally  pass ;  an  outlying 

*  In  this  paper  foreign  words  are  spelt  nearly  a«  pronounced ;  for  the  vowels  the 
pnTujing  usage  of  German  and  Italian  pronunciation  is  intended.  The  letter  '  c ' 
is  not  adopted,  heing  an  expletive,  and  its  sound  generally  uncertain. 


A  Visit  to  ShaniyVs  Country. 


island  station  requires  a  lengthy 
call ;  and  then  we  steer  for  a  speck 
on  the  horizon  which  in  the  course 
of  time  proves  to  be  the  Prince 
Co7istantine,  a  good  paddle-steamer 
of  perhaps  700  tons,  which  afler 
some  four  hours'  work  receives  her 
cargo.  A  glorious  night  on  a  gently 
rolHng  sea  was  followed  by  a  fresh 
morning.  The  traveller  from  Russia 
looks  out  for  the  first  sign  of  moun- 
tains— at  the  foot  of  brown  craggy 
hills  lie  the  white  houses,  the  bar- 
racks and  the  pier  of  Petrovsk.  The 
time  of  year  was  recommendable 
rather  for  convenience  and  health 
than  with  regard  to  the  aspects  of 
nature.  Probably  every  part  of  the 
Russian  dominions  needs  all  of 'May' 
it  can  get  to  give  it  a  charm  to  the 
Western  visitor.  I  found  through- 
out Southern  Russia  the  steppe  and 
all  but  the  highest  uplands  alike 
brown  and  bare  and  void  of  the 
picturesque ;  but  on  the  other  hand 
the  weather  was  for  three  months 
never  unfriendly,  and  the  roads  and 
rivers  never  incmivenables,  Petrovsk 
is  mostly  modem.  The  new  har- 
bour ought  to  become  very  useful, 
being  the  only  one  north  of  Baku ; 
but  from  the  style  of  progress  in 
works  and  in  trade  the  engineer 
may  well  be  glad  of  all  the  com- 
pliments he  gets.  After  looking  over 
two  neat  old  forts  and  a  fine  new 
lighthouse,!  was  anxious  to  be  on  the 
way  to  Temir-khan-shura,  the  capi- 
tal of  the  district,  there  to  present 
an  introduction  to  the  .governor, 
and  to  learn  what  sort  of  a  journey 
I  could  make  to  Tiflis.  (I  had 
utterly  failed  in  seeking  information 
about  Daghestan,  excepting  from 
Ussher's  London  to  PersepoUs.)  A 
diligence — a  sort  of  omnibus — 
.was  assigned  as  a  favour  (instead 
of  the  renowned  little  boat  on  four 
wheels — telega — ^the  representative 
vehicle  of  the  Russian  post,  which 
figures  in  every  English  book  on 
Russia),  and  the  anticipated  expe- 
sience  of  'urging  the  inevitable 
pwraclodnaia  over  the  interminable 

dteppe'  was  deferred.  The  hom 
blew  loud,  and  the  four  horses 
abreast  galloped  off. 

For    the    first  stage    the    route 
skirted  the  foot  of  the  hills,   their 
shadows  then  varied  by  a  finely- 
clouded  sky.     To  the  right  wtis   a 
boundless  level — the  steppe.       The 
driver  goes  where  are  the  feiwest 
inequalities    in    the    ground,     and 
where  a  track  is  made  in  the  dried 
herbage.     After  passing  some   cnU 
tivated  patches  of  the  ungracious 
looking   soil,   Kumkurtale    is     ap- 
proached.     It    is    about    fourteen 
miles  from  Petrovsk,  and  on  a  cliff 
overlooking  the  stream  which  flows 
down   from   'Shura.     The    honses 
are    all    of    mud  —  as    in    many 
Eastern  countries — solid    and    du- 
rable as  the  'cob'  of  Devonshire. 
Some  com  was  being  grathered  in 
small  stacks  by  the  homes  or  on 
their  roofs;  in  another  place  oxen 
drawing  a  chair  on  nvheels   were 
being   urged    round    the    thickly- 
strewn    threshing-floor.       With    a 
fresh  team  a  start  was  soon  made, 
and    novelties  drew  attention    on 
either  hand.    The  road  here  turned 
down  into  the  valley,  following  it 
right  up  into  the  mountain  country, 
stumbling    along    and    across   the 
rugged    river    bed.     Here   was    a 
walled  vineyard  with  its   *  tower' 
in  the  comer,  there  a  field  of  maize, 
a  corn  field,  or  a  garden,  with  the 
life-giving  irrigation,  showing  the 
native  thrift  of  the  sons  of  the  soil. 
After  an  hour's  jolting  a  plateau  is 
reached,  which  commands  striking 
panoramas    of   the    peaky,    rocky 
hills,  and  valleys  which  mark  the 
approach  to  this  *  mountain-land  * — 
Dagh-cstan.     Sandstone  is  the  pre- 
vailing formation,   and   sometimes 
very  picturesque.   A  village — aul— - 
is  passed  every  few  miles,  and  one 
learns  often  to   recognise  its  pre- 
sence by  the  cemetery-hill,  with  its 
crowd  of  rude  monuments  and  high 
upright  stones,  which   may  cfitch 
the  eye  long  before  the  flat  brown 
tops  of  the  snugly-set  houses.     The 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country. 


countenances  and  style  of  the  peo- 
pie  are  the  greatest  contrast  to 
either  Russian  or  Kabnnk,  recalling 
one's  ideal  of  a  race  of  mountaineers. 
One  may  feel  it  almost  an  Honour 
to  be  looked  at  by  the  grand  large 
eyes  of  the  boys.  Long  strings  of 
carts  are  passed  on  the  road,  the 
drivers  generally  wearing  the  mas- 
sive cone  of  white,  black  or  brown 
sheepskin — the  hat  of  the  Cauca- 
sians. The  last  &ul  before  reaching 
the  town  is  perhaps  as  picturesquely 
placed  as  any  in  Daghestan,  the  old 
Tartar  keep  overhanging  its  village 
and  its  gardens ;  barest  hills  around, 
on  which  the  sun  is  just  setting, 
and  one  wonders  what  an  evening 
was  like  up  in  that  tower  fifty  years 
ago,  when  the  levelling  Christian 
Rnss  had  not  placed  his  foot  on  the 
land,  and  when  feud  and  fight  were 
the  Kfe  of  the  people.  Again  the 
horn  is  blown,  and  we  are  impelled 
at  the  utmost  speed  of  Russian 
etiquette,  through  the  fortifications 
of  the  Russiazi  town,  up  a  street 
which  seems  a  mixture  of  tree- 
trunks,  dried  mud,  and  stones. 
Hero  it  may  b©  indeed  well  to  try 
to  make  some  virtue  of  the  neces- 
aity  of  taking  things  as  one  finds 
them.  The  traveller's  position  in  a 
diH^ee  is  really  like  that  of  *a 
pea  in  a  rattle.'  He  learns  to  hold 
m  as  the  victim  of  the  Russian  post 
most  do,  especially  when  leaving 
or  nearxng  a  station. 

In  the  darkness  we  turn  out  at  the 
Hotel  Giinib ' — ^the  chief  tavern  of 
the  town — ^kept  by  an  Armenian,  as 
is  usnal  in  Caucasian  countries ;  and 
the  darkness  inside  renders  an  en- 
tiya  matter  of  time.  On  reach- 
ing ^  first  floor — where  are  gene- 
n^y  the  principal  rooms,  the  cham- 
bers, bilHard-room  and  dining-room 
—we  find  some  little  glass  petro- 
leun  lamps  (the  same  &at  do  duty 
iadoort  and  oat  anywhere  within  a 
thooaftDd  miles  this  side  of  the  oil 
wells  of  Baku).  Presently  a  waiter 
«{iena  the  tall,  cpeeky»  Rassian-like 
doors  of  the  bet^r  f4pH0urtments ;  by 

*  strong  representations  *  we  obtain 
some  leather  mattresses  to  mitigate 
the  boarded  bedsteads  or  couches, 
which  with  a  few  stools  are  the 
sole  furniture.  Earthenware  may 
be  borrowed  as  a  favour,  though 
the  Russian  ablutions  are  usually 
done  out  of  doors,  the  water  being 
poured  on  the  hands  Oriental- wise. 
Thirty  miles  of  very  unaccustomed 
shaking  indisposed  one  to  criticise 
long  or  severely  the  circumstances 
of  the  new  quarters. 

The  nextmoming  was  sunny,  and  I 
soon  turned  out  to  see  if  there  might 
be  anything  pleasing  orinteresting  in 
the  little  capital  of  Northern  Dagh- 
estan. Temir-khan-shura  numbers 
about  two  thousand  souls,  and  a 
similar  number  of  soldiers  were 
stationed  there  under  canvas  on  a 
hill- side.  The  residence  of  Prince 
George-adzi,  the  governor,  the  sum- 
mer house  of  Prince  Melikov,  and 
the  extensive  barracks,  are  stone- 
built,  white-washed,  and  roofed 
with  the  Russian  sheet-iron  or 
tiles.  Nearly  all  the  other  build- 
ings are  entirely  wooden  (unless  the 
roofs  be  in  some  cases  thatched), 
painted  white  and  green,  or  more 
often  unpainted.  The  streets  are 
quite  unpaved,  excepting  d  la 
coroUtroy  near  the  town  gates,  with 
white  lamp  posts  at  the  comers, 
and  relieved  by  rows  of  Lombardy 
poplars.  My  servant  ascertained 
that  the  governor  was  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  in  his  district,  but  was 
expected  home  in  two  or  three  days. 

This  delay  was  vexing.  Though 
Gtinib — ^the  celebrated  stronghold 
of  Shamyl — was  my  proximate  ob- 
ject, I  was  dependent  on  Prince 
Greorge-adzi  for  information .  and 
letters  to  help  me  to  make  such 
journey  to  Tiflis  as  might  promise 
most  of  interest.  And  so  neces- 
sity, added  to  courtesy,  caused  a 
stay  of  four  days  before  making 
fuiiher  progress  towards  the  great 
mountams*  In  one  of  the  chief 
shops  were  a  few  comestibles, 
doubtless,  supposed   to   be   choice 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country. 


samples  of  Western  civilisation — 
most  prominent  being  the  ubiquitous 
and  representative  *  Beading  Bis- 
cuits.' The  inevitable  'photo- 
grapher,' here  as  in  almost  every 
other  town  announced  on  a  large 
board,  was  unable  to  supply  any 
views  of  landscape  or  building. 
Qerman  though  he  generally  is  in 
Caucasus,  I  never,  except  at  Tiflis, 
could  obtain  the  pictures  the  tra- 
veller usually  likes  to  gather  en 
route.  Most  evenings  there  was 
good  billiard  playing  at  the  hotel  be- 
tween the  officers,  natives  especially. 

The  country  around  'Shura  was 
hilly  and  broken,  brown  and  tree- 
less. On  the  north  side  of  the 
town  the  river  rushes  at  the  foot  of 
high  sandstone  cliffs,  on  the  crest 
of  which  are  some  old  forts.  Not 
far  off  is  a  Russian  cemetery,  con- 
taining the  damaged  tombs  of  several 
officers.  One  evening  we  spent 
with  a  German  settler  in  the  valley, 
where  he  has  a  very  good  orchard 
and  a  mill,  besides  a  brewery.  From 
the  aspect  of  things  in  general,  I 
did  not  wonder  at  his  expressing 
a  wish  to  sell  out  and  leave  the 
country,  though  his  motives  might 
be  more  social  than  commercial,  for 
he  assured  us  the  goodwill  of  his 
beer-houses  in  the  town  was  no 
trifle.  His  ale  hardly  reached  the 
standard  of  the  bright,  light,  fra- 
grant *  Astrakhanski  pivo,'  which 
is  the  emulation  of  brewers  and 
drinkers  in  East  Caucasus. 

On  Saturday,  August  15  (O.S.),  I 
witnessed  the  service  of  the  last  day 
of  the  Feast  of  the  Assumption.  The 
first  day  I  had  spent  among  the 
throng  of  worshippers  at  the  many 
churches  and  shrines  at  *Holy 
Trinity,'  near  Moscow.  Here,  on 
the  outskirts  as  it  were  of  the 
Russian  Church  and  the  Russian 
realm,  the  observances  were  fully 
attended.  The  church  is  promi- 
nent, placed  in  the  midst  of  a 
square,  and  is  coloured  over  outside 
with  red  ochre.  It  was  crowded, 
and  the  memorial  and  symbolical 

adjuncts  of  the  altar  were  nearly 
obscured  by  dense  incense.  The 
next  morning  the  market-place  in. 
the  native  quarter  was  alive  ivitlx 
peasants  of  all  sorts  and  ages, 
dealing  chiefly  in  fruits  and  com. 
I  bargained  for  some  different  kinds 
of  grapes  at  about  a  penny  a 
pound,  and  found  them  fairly  good. 

My  last  evening  at  'Shura  was 
spent  most  profitably  with  a  distin- 
guished officer  stationed  there  for  a 
short  time,  I  believe,  for  scientific 
purposes.  He  was  a  Finn — ^had 
been  in  Chodsko's  expedition  in 
Armenia,  and  was  one  of  those  who 
mounted  Ararat — so  apparently  felt 
entitled  to  speak  jauntily  of  climbers 
with  whom  he  &ared  scientific  ob- 
servations were  a  secondary  matter. 
He  had  been  colouring  maps  of  a 
great  part  of  Caucasus,  to  distinguish 
the  many  tribes  (some  of  which 
are  limited  to  a  single  village),  and 
the  varied  dialects  and  different 
languages  current  between  the  Cas- 
pian and  Black  Seas.  He  was  a 
real  philologer — knew  English,  too, 
though,  like  several  Russians,  espe- 
cially ladies,  he  would  not  talk  it, 
through  ignorance  of  our  pronnn- 
ciation.  The  governor  I  found  gra- 
cious, as  Russian  officers  are  always 
represented  to  be.  He  did  not 
speak  French,  so  my  interpreter- 
servant  from  Moscow  was  required 
as  a  medium.  He  advised  the  fre- 
quented route  from  Gunib  to 
Vladikavkaz  and  Tiflis,  rather  than 
straight  over  the  high  mountains 
by  Telav,  and  gave  me  letters  to 
all  the  authorities  on  the  way.  He 
assigned  as  escort  and  interpreter  as 
far  as  Gunib  a  brave  officer  of  the  1 
n  ati  ve  militia — Abdullah — lately 
high  in  the  service  of  Shamyl. 
I  went  to  the  post-office  and  gave 
a  letter  to  the  master — the  last  I 
could  post  before  reaching  the 
capital — its  address  requii^  in 
Russian  as  well  as  English,  that  it 
might  be  read  and  registered.  | 

Late  in   the  afternoon  we  rode 
out  of  Temir-khan-shura,  and  for 


A  VM  to  ShamyVs  Country, 


foQiieen  miles  rode  slowly  soatli- 
warda,  mostly  in  the  shades  of  a 
serene  evening.  The  roar  of  grass- 
hoppers alone  disturbed  the  still- 
ness. We  soon  left  the  Caspian 
road  which  leads  to  Derbem,  and 
on  onr  way  passed  some  large  vil- 
Iftges ;  one  of  them,  they  said,  more 
popnlons  than  the  town.  The  reli- 
gions exercises  of  onr  leader  caused 
more  than  one  protracted  delay. 
His  Mahometanism  I  may  observe 
WAS  Snnni,  the  Shia  forms  of  the 
fiuth  are  nearly  confined  to  the  coast 
and  other  districts  formerly  under 
Persian  rule.  About  nine  o'clock 
▼e  tnmed  into  the  Government 
house  at  Jengntai,  and  the  dirty 
divan  in  the  chief  room  was  assigned 
for  my  repose.  The  journey  was 
resumed  by  starlight.  Passing  out 
of  the  village  a  cemetery  was  on 
either  hand,  and  in  each  was  a  clus- 
ter of  the  people  awaiting  the  dawn 
in  ftttitudes  of  devotion.  I  was 
afterwards  repeatedly  impressed 
with  this  practice,  and  more  than 
once  noticed  the  like  observance 
also  with  Russians  on  ship-board. 

The  country  was  not  poor,  the  soil 
being  very  light  and  not  shallow, 
and  generally  cropped  with  maize  and 
bnckwheat.  Villages  lined  the  route 
at  sbortintervals — winding  between 
the  houses  in  these  auls  was  some- 
times not  easy  or  agreeable.  The 
people  and  animals  weretuming  out 
for  the  day — the  men  and  women 
appear  generally  to  share  the  work 
—then  they  were  reaping  the  bar- 
ley, stacking  it,  or  laying  out  the 
bundles  on  a  threshing-floor;  in 
other  directions  they  were  to  be 
heard  urging  the  cattle  at  plough. 
The  road  throughout  to  Gunib  was 
in  course  of  improvement :  bridges, 
little  and  big,  being  built,  pretty 
thoroughly  t^.  The  old  route  of 
^gbly.four  miles  from  'Shura  (de- 
scribed by  2iir.  Ussher  in  his  London 
to  PenepoUa  in  1863)  will  be  rather 
shortened.  Mine  was  of  some  fifty- 
eight  miles,  leading  through  the 
mountain  gorges. 

veil.  VII.— so.  IXXVII.  NEW  8EBIES. 

We  left  the  road,  taking  a  long 
steep  climb,  from  the  sunmiit  of 
which  is  a  very  extensive  view  of 
the  'Shura  hill  country.  The  south 
side  overlooked  a  very  deep  set 
&6\ — Aimyaki.  Forthe  descent  itwas 
quite  necessaiy  to  dismount,  and  my 
horse,  once  in  the  village,  soon  led 
the  way  to  a  house,  which  proved 
to  be  Abdullah's  home.  There  I  was 
soon  occupied  in  clearing  a  plate  of 
small  raw  hen  eggs,  and  was  the 
subject  of  much  regard  by  child- 
ren on  neighbouring  roofs,  and  by 
the  host's  two  little  ones.  Putting 
my  spectacles  on  the  boy,  he  went 
off  with  them  to  his  mother,  who 
was  preparing  a  repast  which  she 
and  Abdullah  produced  with  the 
graceful  manners  characteristic  of 
the  Mussulmans  of  the  country.  An 
hour  in  the  quiet  and  in  the  dark 
was  afterwards  refreshing.  I  found 
a  'siesta'  was  usual  after  dinner 
with  all  classes  in  Caucasus — Rus- 
sian and  native.  This  Abdullah 
received  from  the  late  Emperor  one 
of  the  (re-captured)  Russian  flags 
which  Shamyl  had  taken.  The 
great  conflict  seemed  very  recent^ 
and  one  could  hardly  imagine  the 
best  part  of  the  men  we  see  having 
been  deadly  enemies  to  Russia,  and 
now  even  acting  as  showmen  in 
Shamyl's  head-quarters. 

The  mountains  here  were  of 
chalk  and  limestone,  the  strata 
rising  towards  the  south,  as  I 
have  heard  does  Daghestan  gene- 
rally, the  steeps  being  on  the  sotUh 
side  of  the  main  range,  oveiv 
hanging  Kakhetia.  The  exit  from 
Aimyaki  is  through  a  strange^, 
lofty,  jagged  *  gate.'  We  followed  a 
brook  for  perhaps  four  miles,  having 
often  a  thousand  feet  of  precipice  on 
each  side,  and  sometimes  the  space  at 
top  as  narrow  as  the  river  bed  along 
which  we  made  our  way.  The  rock 
formation,  I  thought,  rendered  tho 
scenery  more  striking  than  the  simi- 
lar gorges  in  Switzerland,  Tyrol, 
andNorth  Dovrefield — ^more  broken^ 
rocky,  and  ridgy.    Before  reaching 



A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country, 


the  main  valley  of  the  Kazikoiso, 
a  contretemps  caused  some  diver- 
sion, the  path  being  covered  with 
water  through  a  miller  making 
extra  '  pen.'  Where  the  chffs  were 
four  or  five  yards  apart  all  was 
water  for  more  than  twice  that  dis- 
tance. The  lad  who  had  charge  of 
the  horses  wont  first,  and  the  *  yu- 
kha'  (baggage  horse)  next — ^that 
missed  footing  on  the  narrow  path 
where  the  water  was  not  two  feet 
deep,  and  threatened  soon  to  sub- 
merge itself.  However,  Abdullah 
managed  to  get  it  through  without 
my  baggage  being  seriously  wet- 
ted. I  went  next,  and  my  horse 
tumbled,  but  soon  scrambled  out. 
The  horses  revenged  themselves  in 
a  fashion  by  treading  down  the 
banks  of  the  miller's  dam  in  cross- 
fined  it. 

Passingthroughaconsiderable  &a\ 
— Gergebil — ^where  maize  was  grow- 
ing in  great  luxuriance,  with  plenty 
of  trees  and  crops,  we  crossed  the 
Elazikoisu  by  a  strong  bridge,  the 
river  running  far  below,  confined 
by  the  rock  strata  to  a  precisely 
straight  course  for  several  hundred 
feet.  The  valley  seemed  filled  with 
hills  of  boulder,  covered  or  tufted 
with  grass.  As  the  road  approaches 
the  mountain  on  the  other  side  the 
valley,  it  passes  vast  piles  of  this 
boulder  deposit.  The  latter  seems 
packed  along  the  north  side  of  the 
mountain,  the  strata  of  which  rises 
.  vertically  from  one  to  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  bed  of  the  Kara- 
koisu — the  Gunib  stream.  The  road 
through  the  mighty  defile  of  this 
river  is  in  a  notch  perhaps  half-way 
up  the  cliff".  The  sides  are  often 
too  abrupt  to  allow  a  view  of  the 
water :  they  vary  from  fifty  feet  to 
a  mile  in  distance  from  the  tower- 
ing crags  opposite.  After  a  broad 
valley  the  mountains  again  close  in 
on  the  road.  The  latter  ascends 
considerably  to  where  the  stream 
coming  down  from  Gunib  is  spanned 
by  a  light  iron  lattice  bridge  which 
carries    the    road    to    Ehunzakh. 

Thence  the  white  house  of  the  go- 
vernor at  Gunib  is  visible,  high  on 
a  prominent  crag.  The  main  direc- 
tion of  the  road  is  nearly  straight, 
and  also  level,  though  the  actual 
distance  is  nearly  trebled  by  the 
incessant  windings  caused  by  gul- 
lies and  lateral  valleys.  Au  officer 
en  route  from  St.  Petersburg  to 
Gtmib  kept  company  for  an  hour  or 
two.  He  had  left  'Shnra  that 
morning,  and  on  his  way  had  had 
a  ducking  in  the  mill-stream. 
His  white  pony  held  on  its  way 
better  than  our  caravan,  at  the 
waddling  trot  which  is  liked  in  this 
country.  Daylight  was  gone  long 
ere  we  reached  the  bridge  which 
introduces  to  the  zigzags  of  Gunib. 
Many  lights  on  the  mountain  side 
had  shown  where  we  were,  and 
gradually  we  found  ourselves  among 

The  governor's  reception  was 
most  cordial,  and  the  apologies 
profuse  for  a  disarrangement  of 
the  establishment  caused  by  the 
preparations  for  the  visit  of  the 
Viceroy,  the  Grand  Duke  Michael, 
then  on  a  progress  through  Dagh- 
estan.  I  found  myself  violating  a 
maxim  of  Russian  travel — never  to 
be  just  before  or  after  a  great  man ; 
and  afterwards  on  the  post  road  I 
was  two  or  three  times  hindered 
for  hours  through  the  horses  being 
requisitioned  for  the  imperial  cor- 
tege, I  was  soon  desired  to  join  a 
few  officers  who  were  invited  to 
sup  with  a  general  of  engineers. 
The  latter  was  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 
tion of  the  barracks  and  other 
military  works  in  the  district.  The 
party  was  a  pleasant  one,  for  all 
could  speak  French  or  (German,  and 
the  engineer  had  lately  been  on  an 
expedition  to  the  country  east  of  the 
Caspian.  He  had  visited  the  high, 
bare  Balkan  hills,  and  produced  his 
sketch  book  and  notes.  The  new 
Russian  colonia  there,  Krasno- 
vodsk,  is  costly,  for  there  is  very 
lifcde  in  the  neighbourhood  to  sup- 
port it,  but  it  is  hoped  it  will  be 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Counivy, 


QseM  in  the  Grovemment  system 
of  Western  Turkestan.  A  special 
steamer  maintains  the  communica* 
tion  irith  Baka  on  the  opposite 

Next  morning  1  was  conducted, 
bj  two  handsome  officers  of  the 
moimted  native  militia,  around 
Ganib.  The  town  is  on  the  side  of 
the  mountain  mass  which  bears  the 
name,  and  at  the  onlj  point  which 
is  not  precipitous,  and  therefore 
accessible.  Above  the  town  are  yet 
more  zigzags,  and  the  road  is 
generally  supported  by  walls  or 
arches.  The  barracks  and  upper 
fortifications  seemed  considerable, 
for  the  force  stationed  there  was  a 
battalion  ( i ,  ooo  men) .  The  fastness 
of  Gunib  is  about  33  miles  round, 
and  the  objection  to  it  as  a  fortress 
is  its  extent.  The  interior  is  much 
depressed,  and  a  deep  gorge  carries 
off  the  numerous  streams  towards 
the  town.  This  rent  appears  water- 
worn  in  places,  and  at  a  height 
which  struck  me  as  far  above  the 
possible  level  of  any  glut  which 
could  now  be  furnished  by  the  sur- 
roimding  slopes.  ShamyVs  dis- 
mantled village  is  in  the  midst  of 
the  uplands.  His  house  is  tenanted 
to  keep  it  up ;  it  is  similar  to  all 
other  houses  in  the  country,  but  has 
a  noticeable  Jittle  wateh  tower  and 
stone  gateway.  Here  two  stupid, 
ugly  children,  dressed  in  loose  blue 
cloths  like  the  women,  took  hold  of 
me,  and,  besides  two  ugly  black 
sheep  with  the  fat  tails,  were  the 
only  signs  of  life.  From  this  house 
Shamyl  went  down  the  valley  to 
meet  his  conqueror.  Prince  Bar- 
yatinski,  in  a  birchwood  by  the  road 
within  sight  of  his  home.  An  open 
building,  its  roof  supported  by  eight 
piUara,  and  perhaps  four  yards 
square,  covers  the  spot  where  for- 
mally ended  Shamyl's  twenty-seven 
years*  war  against  Russia.  A  stone 
on  which  the  Viceroy  sat  bears  the 
date  of  the  chieftain's  submission — 
4  PH.  Aueust  26,  1859. 

We  followed  for  a  few  miles  the 

windings  of  a  road,  in  course  of 
construction,  up  to  a  newly  made 
tunnel:  a  route  which  materially 
shortens  the  J  distance  from  Gunib 
town  to  Karadakh,  the  next  gar* 
risen  fort  on  the  west.  The  Kus- 
sian  soldiers  on  the  work  were 
numerous,  digging,  stone-breaking, 
and  building.  They  had  extem- 
porised huts  from  the  haycocks. 
They  were  just  then  at  their  mid- 
day chief  meal,  which  was,  as  else- 
where, vegetable  broth,  with  coarse 
bread  and  a  shred  of  meat.  The 
outer  end  of  the  tunnel  suddenly 
reveals  one  of  the  wildest  and 
grandest  prospects  in  the  country, 
and  overlooks  a  very  deep  and 
precipitous  valley,  the  descent  to 
which  is  by  many  zigzags.  At 
the  governor's  to  dinner,  besides 
his  wife,  a  cultivated  lady  from 
Goorgia,  and  her  elder  chil- 
dren, were  the  supper  party  of  the 
previous  evening.  Gunib  is  a 
*  crack  *  station,  but  living  is  costly. 
I  noticed  many  officers  there.  It  is 
a  sanatorium  tor  invalided  members 
of  the  Government  services.  The 
rocks  are  apt  to  be  loose,  and  the 
ways  in  the  town  are  very  irregular, 
and  dangerous  in  the  dark ;  several 
soldiers  get  thrown  down  or  crushed 
in  the  course  of  a  year. 

The  Russian  soldiers  are  always  at 
work,  at  least  in  Caucasus.  Here 
they  seemed  to  do  everything.  Their 
clothes  are  well  worn  and  patched  ; 
uniforms  are  not  always  worn  in 
Caucasus — sometimes  an  officer's 
old  white  coat  is  donned  instead  of 
the  grey — ^but  always  the  cap  and 
long  boot,  without  which  a  man  is 
hardly  a  Russian.  A  plateau  in  the 
midst  of  the  town  is  useful  for  drill. 
It  was  formerly  fortified,  and  a 
curious  collection  of  field  pieces  and 
other  artillery,  native,  Russian,  and 
Persian,  is  now  set  out  by  the 
church.  The  latter  building  is  a 
first  and  principal  consideration 
with  the  Russian  at  home  or  abroad, 
and  on  effecting  an  occupation  the 
conqueror  or  colomst  has  been  said 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVg  Country, 


to  declare,  *  We  never  give  up  con- 
secrated ground '  1 

The  next  day  I  rode  and  strolled 
about  the  long  slopes  of  pasture, 
and  mounted  to  the  crest,  which 
rises  almost  like  the  edge  of  a 
saucer.  The  wild  flowers  were  yet 
more  plentiful  than  before,  though 
I  did  not  recognise  any  which  are 
not  familiar  in  Bedfordshire.  The 
rainy  season  here  is  in  the  three 
months  which  end  in  July,  so  the 
vegetation  was  fresher  than  in  the 
same  latitude  in  the  Pyrenees.  The 
grasshoppers  were  countless  and 
noisy,  brilliant  green,  black  and  red, 
yellow,  and  yellow-green.  On  and 
off  for  an  hour  or  two  my  attention 
was  taken  by  a  kind  of  broken  net- 
work over  the  sky — immense  flights 
of  cranes  coming  from  the  Caspian 
southward.  The  panorama  from 
Gunib  is  very  extensive  and  very 
impressive.  Down  below  the  won- 
derful precipices  on  the  southern 
edge  were  the  tiny  fields  of  the  fertile 
valley,  the  pairs  of  oxen  just  dis- 
cernible drawing  their  loads.  A 
large  part  of  the  main  range  of 
East  Caucasus  was  visible,  with 
patches  of  snow  on  the  higher  parts 
only.'  Countless  great  summits 
jagged  the  southern  horizon,  but 
neither  the  extreme  right  nor  left 
revealed  the  longed-for  peak  of 
Shebulos  or  Basarajusi.  Between 
was  spread  a  chaos  of  mountain 
land,  clefb  irregularly,  and  present- 
ing no  marked  ridges  oropen valleys. 
The  northward  prospect  from 
Gunib  shows  how  the  country 
breaks  down  towards  the  steppe-— 
the  Tshetshnian  forests  shading  its 
limits  in  that  direction — forests 
connected  with  woeful  memories  of 
slaughtered  columns  of  invaders. 
The  commanding  heights  imme- 
diately to  the  east  I  had  hoped  to 
climb,  while  waiting  a  few  days  for 
an  expected  good  chance  of  strik- 
ing across  the  wild  high  country 
straight  for  Tiflis ;  but  being  taken 
with  a  diarrhcBa,  I  gave  a  day  to 
rest,  and  another  vainly  to  laudanum, 

then  started  westward  one  evening* 
for  Karadakh,  vid  the  tunnel  and. 
the  valley  below  it  I  had  looked 
into.  The  country  to  the  south 
has  been  little  visited,  even  by 
Russians.  I  was  told  it  would  be 
difficult  and  dangerous  to  cross  it« 
except  in  quiet  weather,  and  witH 
a  full  supply  of  food  and  of  cover- 
ing, there  being  little  population , 
and  the  tracks  tedious  and  rocky 
in  the  extreme.  The  charms  of 
the  route  I  afterwards  took  com- 
bine varieties  of  forest  and  culti- 
vated vegetation,  with  crags  and 
steeps  probably  nearly  equal  in 
scale  to  those  of  the  undescribed 

Taking  leave  of  my  bountiful  en- 
tertainers, I  quitted  their  mansion 
and  traversed  the  great  mountain 
of  GKinib  for  the  last  time,  de- 
scending on  the  contrary  side  to 
the  town  by  the  new  exit  to  the 
deep  valley.  For  several  versts  we 
took  a  doubtful  course  along  a  stony 
little  river  bed,  sometimes  nearly 
grown  up  with  bushes,  while  the 
evening  shades  soon  confined  the 
view.  It  became  too  dark  to  dis- 
tinguish the  coal-seams  in  the  clifiT, 
which  the  Russians  work  by  adits. 
We  could  have  no  communication 
with  our  guide,  he,  like  other  na- 
tives, knowing  no  speech  but  that 
of  his  congeners;  and  we  found 
ourselves  bitterly  deceived  by  a  six 
hours'  ride  having  been  described  as 
consisting  of  as  many  miles,  the 
latter  being  indeed  barely  the 
length  of  the  direct  line.  The 
moon  rising  on  the  left  revealed  in 
front  a  cliff  of  some  600  or  800 
feet,  with  a  narrow  rift  in  the  direc- 
tion of  our  march.  At  the  bottom 
of  this  was  the  stream,  and  utter 
darkness.  Some  soldiers — Finns — 
sleeping  on  huts  at  the  entrance  of 
the  passage,  recommended  us  to 
stay  there  ;  but  as  they  said  the 
fort  was  but  three  versts  beyond, 
I  went  on.  My  timid  courier, 
whose  breeding  was  of  Homburg, 
Baden,  and  Paris,  abhorred  such 


A  Visit  to  ShainyVs  Gountry. 


jonrnejiiig ;  and  his  dislike  of  my 
tour  was  nearly  equalled  by  his  dis- 
like of  the  taste  that  chose  its 
pleasare  in  snch  a  country.  We 
dismounted,  and  splashed  along  the 
bed  of  the  stream  in  the  dark  for 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  top 
of  the  ravine  was  straighter  and 
narrower  than  the  bottom.  The 
view  looking  ont  at  each  end  was 
very  striking.  It  was  eleven  be- 
fore the  Karadagh  foH  was  reached 
farther  down  the  valley,  and  I  was 
vexed  to  be  obliged  to  call  np  the 
officer  in  charge.  After  some  delay 
he  kindly  prepared  ns  lodging  and 
snpper.  The  host  was  a  devoat 
old  peasant  soldier  of  thirty-five 
years'  service,  who  had  been  pro- 
moted repeatedly  in  consequence  of 
bravery  in  the  Crimean  war.  Snch 
hononr  has  been  unusual  in  the 
Russian  army,  the  full  flock  of 
nobility  being  largely  dependent 
on  the  State  for  'relief  in  the 
form  of  appointments.  Almost 
cveiy  evening  of  my  journey  I 
could  follow  in  the  first  f:onversa- 
tion  enquiries  as  to  what  we  each 
were,  our  route,  and  about  the 
events  and  probabilities  of  the  war. 
Now  I  had  to  interrupt  this,  for, 
not  knowing  if  the  remaining  thirty 
versts  to  Khunzakh  might  prove 
ninety,  I  was  determined  on  rest 
without  delay,  and  an  early  start. 

The  morning  rose  fresh,  bright, 

and  hot.     Forward  the  valley  was 

wider  and  a  little  cultivated.    After 

miles  of  laborious  zigzags  the  road 

emerges  on  a  very  elevated  poor 

pasturage,  where  were  pretty  little 

sheep  and  goats  of  all  colours.     In 

a   depression    lay   the   large  new 

fortress,   barracks,  and  village    of 

Khunzakh.    The  mountains  around 

were  bare  ancl  wild:   though   the 

strata   were   broken,  they   offered 

no  striking  feature  excepting  one 

fiqnarc  solitary  mass  rising  from  a 

valley  on  the  left,  which  had  caught 

nj  eje  all  the  morning.  The  valleys 

of  this  conntry  are  probably  between 

five  and  seven  thousand  feet  above 

the  sea-level,  and  the  heights  not 
often  three  thousand  feet  above  them. 
Many  soldiers  were  at  the  unfinished 
works  building  and  banking;  several 
were  dousing  in  the  pools  and  water- 
falls of  a  torrent  close  by. 

Here  again  the  governor  and  his 
lady  proved  assiduous  and  cordial 
entertainers,  and  I  was  glad  of  rest. 
The  table  was  supplied  by  some  va- 
riety of  meats,  as  well  as  of  fruits  and 
vegetables.  Besides  household  deco- 
rations, I  was  struck  with  ornamental 
cups,  plates,  and  sticks  carved  from 
a  red  root,  and  bearing  designs  in 
imbedded  silver  points.  The  long 
day's  journey  hence  was  by  a  toil- 
some route,  and  one  on  which  tra- 
vellers are  occasionally  molested.  I 
yras  favoured  with  the  company  of 
a  young  officer,  lieutenant  to  the 
governor  of  Botlikh,  the  next  lodg- 
ing place.  He  was  a  Mahometan, 
belonging  to  one  of  the  old  terri- 
torial families  of  this  the  country 
of  the  Avars.  He  had  been  in  the 
military  academy  at  St.  Petersburg, 
and  his  intelligence  and  polish,  in 
addition  to  his  general  appearance, 
gave  one  the  impression  of  a  culti- 
vated genial  German.  I  was  again 
and  again  struck  with  a  superior- 
ity in  the  Tartar  blood  of  Kazan, 
in  the  few  old  Tartar  families  of 
Poland,  and  in  the  Tartar  and  other 
stocks  in  East  Caucasus,  all  of  them 
retaining  more  or  less  strictly  their 
ancient  £Edth  and  worship,  thanks 
to  the  restrictive  jealousy  which  the 
Russian  State  so  wisely  bears  to- 
wards its  Church. 

We  journeyed  for  some  hours 
on  the  elevated  pasture  land,  not 
unfrequently  crossing  rills  and 
streams  which  support  the  herbage 
for  numbers  of  sheep  and  horses. 
The  herdsman,  whether  on  foot 
or  on  horseback,  is  a  curious 
object  in  the  Cancasian  landscape ; 
his  boarka  like  a  conical  roof  ob- 
scuring the  man,  or  perhaps  sup- 
porting his  '  chimney-pot '  —  the 
massive  upright  cylindrical  hat  of 
sheepskin.     This  bourka  is  his  one 


A  Visit  to  BhamyVa  Country. 


proteotipn  against  cold  and  wet ;  a 
stiff  round  cloak  made  of  a  thicj^ 
coat  of  cow's  hair,  felted  on  the 
inner  side.  It  is  made  similarly  to 
the  woollen  felt  for  tents  (the  kibit- 
kas  of  the  Tartars),  which  is  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  or  more  thick, 
and  almost  impervious  to  heat,  cold, 
or  damp.  The  best  bourkas  are 
made  in  this  neighbourhood,  and 
the  price  at  a  fair  is  about  twenty 
shillings.  I  afterwards  noticed 
many  loads  of  them  en  route  for  the 
towns  of  the  steppe. 

Curiosity  led  me  to  enter  a  little 
mill  which  stood  by  the  way. 
It  was  a  mud  box,  perhaps  six 
feet  in  height  and  width,  the 
length  being  rather  greater;  the 
water  entering  on  one  side,  a 
dashing  mill  race  coming  from  un- 
der it  on  the  other,  and  some  dust 
of  the  trade  marking  the  doorway. 
The  'honest  miller'  was  represented 
by  two  children — they  shovelled 
bai'ley.  into  the  hollowed  tree-stem 
from  which  the  stones  were  sup- 
plied; the  meal  descended  into  a 
similar  trough,  out  of  which  the 
sacks  were  filled,  and  then  put 
ready  for  the  fiarmer's  donkey.  The 
little  mill  stones  were  apparently 
just  above  the  primitive  turbine  or 
radial  water-wheel,  which  was  un- 
der the  floor,  a  single  shaft  sufficing, 
while  the  water,  conducted  down 
a  steep  enclosed  spout,  impelled  the 
spokes  of  the  wheel  by  its  velocity. 

The  day  wore  on  as  we  passed  the 
abrupt  bare  brows  which  overlook 
the  next  large  valley.  We  sought 
rest  in  a  village  below;  and  un- 
pinning the  door  of  a  good  cottage, 
we  found  a  tidy,  shady  room.  The 
occupants  were  away;  there  were 
earthen  bottles  on  the  floor,  and  a 
table,  in  the  drawer  of  which  were 
a  Koran  and  a  Mecca  passport, 
common  signs  of  a  Moslem  home. 
We  started  on  down  steep 
chalky  crags  to  the  bank  of  the 
river — a  kara  koisu  they  called  it — 
and  a  black  water  it  was,  opaque 
^th   the    washings  of  its   upper 

course.  A  g^rassy  orchard  of  peacli , 
apple,  and  vine  was  an  agreeable 
and  refreshing  resting  place  for  the 
delayed  midday  meaL  After  mucli. 
time  was  lost  in  waiting  for  the 
needed  relay  of  horses,  we  fbllowedl 
a  good  road  up  the  left  bank  of  the 
river  for  many  miles.  Crowds  of 
natives  were  passed;  many  were 
returning  from  their  meadows  with 
asses  loaded  with  hay,  the  slight 
burden  being  placed  in  panniers  or 
in  a  capacious  frame  which  bestrode 
the  little  beast  like  a  letter  YIT. 
The  sun  set  behind  mountains  to 
the  right,  and  thunder  and  light* 
ning  threatened  in  front,  deepening* 
the  frowns  of  a  most  wild  and 
precipitous  defile.  The  mountains 
here  are  very  abrupt,  and  the 
dangerousness  of  the  road,  which 
hardly  finds  its  broken  way»  often 
at  a  height  of  loo  or  200  feet  above 
the  stream,  renders  the  joomey 
more  striking. 

Before  reaching  the  village  of 
Tlokh  some  curious  salt  works 
are  passed.  Saline  streams  issue 
from  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
and  are  caught  in  earth  pans  or 
tanks  (for  filtration  and  evapora- 
tion) just  before  entering  the  river. 
They  extend  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
along  the  side  of  the  road.  Wend- 
ing tnrough  the  rugged  little  village 
we  suddenly  mounted  in  single  file 
one  of  Shamyl's  bridges,  a  fragile 
structure  of  fir  trees.  Each  course 
of  logs  jutted  endwise  beyond  the 
preceding  one,  and,  successively 
overhanging  the  abyss  from  either 
side,  slanted  upwards  towards  the 
apex,  where  a  rather  doubtful  bond 
was  maintained  between  the  unwill- 
ing timbers.  Soon  after  this  we 
reached  a  place  where  the  road  had 
fallen,  so  had  to  make  a  round  by  a 
large  village  (Enkhelli)  set  on  a 
rocky  declivity.  The  way  through 
the  place  was  under  houses  and 
rock,  for  near  300  yards  of  dark 
passages.  Emerging,  strong  moon- 
light showed  the  very  broad,  stony 
bed  of  a  torrent  which  was  to  be 


-4  Vmt  to  Shamyrs  Country, 


crossed.  The  Karasa  ma  last 
crossed  by  an  EagHsh-made  iron 
bridge  near  the  abandoned  fatal 
fever-stricken  fort  of  Preobrajenski. 
Some  of  Sfaamyrs  vast  monntain 
wall  is  here  observable.  It  was 
constracted  of  loose  stones  only, 
and  abont  the  height  of  a  man ; 
its  iTandering  conrse  sometimes 
marked  by  a  little  embrasure  or 
nde  battery. 

We  pnlled  np  at  the  governor's 
house  at  Botlikh  by  nine  o'clock, 
and  received  a  good  supper  and 
quarters.     It  was  sultry.     I  paced 
the  stone  terrace  of  the  mansion 
for  some  time  waiting  for  theyukha, 
which  was  belated,  and  watching 
the   lightning    playing    over    the 
bare  mountains  in  front.    As  my 
course  was  now  northvrard  toward 
the  steppe,  and  Tiflis  was  behind  me, 
1  wanted  to  pnsb  on  and  get  over 
the  detour.     My  kind  conductor  of 
the  previous  day  started  us  in  the 
mormug  with  two  old  native  militia, 
Jesos  and  Mahomet.     The  latter 
proved  chatty — ^not  that  we  knew 
Russian,  but    we   very  often   ex- 
(dianged  looks  and  signs,  and  some- 
times sweetmeats.    It  is  interesting 
to  try  to  convey  feelings,  ideas,  and 
&cts  without  using  the  tongue,  and 
sorely  in  no  part  of  the  world  is  it  so 
necessary  as  in  this  polyglot  land, 
where  a  native  can  hardly  niake  him- 
self nnderstood  when  he  has  crossed 
amoontainor  followed  a  stream  for 
twenty  miles. 

Winding   and    climbing  up   for 

some  hours,   we  left   the    walnut 

trees  and    cornfields     far    below. 

Before    finishing    the    ascent    we 

were  canght  in  a  heavy  rain  cloud. 

1  took  refoge  in  a  haycock;  the 

escort  untied  their  bourkas   from 

their  saddles,  and  unfolding  them 

^vetly  awaited  the  sunshine,  which 

was  flitting  over  the  slopes  before 

us.   We  had  rich  views  of  valley, 

moimtainfi,  and  clouds.     The  little 

broken  plain  of   Botlikh  is  very 

picturesque,   and  I    should  think 

▼cry  fruitful.      The    temperature 

was  much  lower  at  top ;  the  bright 
green,  grassy,  rolling  hills,  and  soon 
a  bright  blue  lake — the  first  and 
almost  the  only  one  I  saw  during 
my  whole  tour — were  refreshing  to 
mind  and  body  afler  bare  hill-sides 
and  confined  valleys.  My  watch 
has  been  useful  in  lonely  situations 
to  tell  the  time  for  midday  prayers. 
This  day  the  halt  was  with  several 
herdsmen,  who  were  minding  their 
cattle,  sheep,  or  horses.  My  nag 
lost  a  stirrup  in  rolling  on  the  soft 
grass,  and  the  search  for  it  prolonged 
our  delay.  We  again  ascended 
green  slopes,  and  on  a  ridge  perliaps 
more  than  7,000  feet  high  were  for 
some  minutes  in  biting  wind  and 
rain.  Getting  imder  the  clouds- 
another  valley  opened  before  us, 
with  fields  of  com,  which  our  horses 
were  eager  to  taste,  and,  beyond,  a 
village  of  the  usual  sort,  with  a 
large  tower  in  the  middle.  The 
latter  is  generally  square  in  this 
country,  and  in  height  from  twenty 
to  fifty  feet.  A  few  more  verste 
and  we  were  glad  to  find  comfort  in 
the  white  tents  of  the  little  camp  set 
just  above  the  second  Forelno  lake^ 
The  name  is  from  the  trout  (forel)^ 
which  is  taken  by  line.  The  captain 
in  charge  was  a  Pole,  and  so  we 
were  heartily  entertained.  Out- 
side, dismal  silent  mists  alternated 
with  driving  rains. 

The  next  day  was  the  last  of 
mountain  and  horseback  in  Dag- 
hestan — no  more  ascending.  The 
kind  Pole  and  his  aide,  a  cap- 
tain of  engineers,  accompanied  us 
for  two  or  three  hours  along  the 
irregular  rooky  shore  of  the  lake, 
which  was  perhaps  as  beautiful 
as  it  could  be  without  tree  or 
bush  ;  then  on  the  line  of  a  new 
road  to  Viden,  which  they  were 
constructing.  Natives  were  at 
work  with  the  soldiers,  and  the 
task  wa.<i  in  many  parts  laborious 
and  tedious.  We  witnessed  one 
blasting  and  the  echo,  and  were 
afterwards  several  times  unplea- 
santly near  to  the  flying  fragments 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Cirunti-y. 


from  ezplosions  fat  above.  All  the 
proceBsesandstages  of  road-making 
(blasting,  digging,  levelling,  and 
metalling)  were  witnessed,  for  all 
the  daj^s  jonrnej  was  along  the 
new  route,  and  often  bad  enough. 
Where  the  work  required  was 
slight  the  way  seemed  finished,  but 
where  the  mountain  side  presented 
a  precipice  there  was  merely  a 
notch,  perhaps  hardly  so  wide  as 
the  horse's  body.  On  the  open 
uplands  people  were  chopping  the 
berbage,  which  here  included  a 
great  variety  of  not  very  esculent 
growths.  They  were  screaming 
and  chanting  as  though  to  the 
eagles,  and  always  ready  to  talk 
with  the  passer-by.  Then  at  last 
came  the  view  of  the  distant  steppe, 
and  in  the  foreground  of  the  grand 
prospect  were  charming  great  green 
slopes,  studded  with  bushes  and 
trees.  A  long  steep  descent  among 
mountain  ash,  acacia,  and  sycamore, 
led  to  a  warm  wooded  valley,  which 
traverses  the  great  forest  border  of 
Daghestan,  here  about  twenty-five 
miles  wide.  Four  miles  farther, 
across  meadows,  by  the  side  of  a 
rippling  stream,  lay  Viden.  This 
place  consists  of  a  strong  white 
wall,  enclosing  a  square  of  mud, 
trees,  and  houses — stagnant  ditches 
surround  the  dwellings,  and  after 
what  we  had  heard  of  fever  in  more 
auspicious  places,  I  did  not  much 
relish  a  night  in  what  appeared, 
from  the  recent  rains,  like  an  en- 
closed marsh. 

The  next  day's  journey  of  forty 
miles,  mostly  level,  was  interest- 
ing for  little  save  as  a  contrasc 
with  what  we  had  passed  before. 
The  mode  of  travelling  was  by 
veritable  paraclodnaia,  the  rudest 
little  waggon  with  a  bit  of  hay 
for  protection  in  the  jolts.  (The 
vehicle  is  'telega,'  the  mode  of 
travelling,  or  the  *  turn-out '  itself. 

is  termed  either  'paraclodnaia,*  or 
if,  as  usual,  drawn  by  three  horses, 
*  troika.')      The    destination    vras 
Orosnai,  a  fortified  town  and  Rus- 
sian settlement  on  the  road  between 
the  Caspian  Sea  and  Vladikavkaz. 
The  Yiden  valley  is  clothed  throngli- 
out  with  foliage,  and  the  windings 
of  the  route  sometimes  lead  through 
a  sultry  wood,  with  dense  under- 
g^wth,  soon  opening  again  on   a 
prospect  enhanced    by  river    and 
rocks.     Each  verst  is  marked  by  a 
burnt  tree,  and  there  yet  remain 
some  of  the  sentiy  stations  perched 
on  a   scaffold   perhaps   ten    yards 
high.     The  forenoon  halt  for  break- 
fast  was  at  the  foot  of  Arsinoe, 
where  the  valley  debouches  on  the 
plain.     Southward  some  mountain 
snows  gleamed  in  the  sun.     Yellow 
hollyhocks  were    splendid    among 
the  brushwood  of  the  open  country. 
There  were  filberts  and  hops,  the 
largest  I  ever  saw,  and  the  wilder- 
ness was  made  up  of  elders  and  a 
spiny  bush  with  large  yellow  berries. 
A   few  miles  before  Grosnai  "we 
heard  the  roar  of  water,  and  found 
ourselves  near  an  expanse  of  rocks 
and  stones — the  bed  of  the  Argon — 
an  indefinite  width,  but  doubtless 
oflen  covered  for  half  a  mile.     We 
crossed  with  some  difficulty ;  there 
were  three  streams,  the  last  nearly 
a    yard    deep.      In     the    deepest 
part    some    buffaloes,    drawing    a 
heavy  cartload  with  some  people 
a- top,  were  stubbornly  enjoying  the 
water,  as,  indeed,  they  are  apt  to 
under    such    circanistances.       We 
crossed  the  river  Sunsha  by  a  larg^ 
bridge,    and    after    a    long    drive 
through  the  ragged-looking  town, 
found  some  venr  fair  quarters  in  an 
inn  kept  by  a  «few.     He  was  atten- 
tive, and  appeared  more  to  advan- 
tage  on  a  week  day  than  on  Sab- 
bath,' which  was  the  morrow,  and 
which  he  observed  bv  an  extra  ex- 

'  Curious  that  Rutsia  is  the  only  Christian  country  where  the  Jew  finds  his  designation 
of  the  seventh  day  eurreot.  The  first  day  is  *  Resurrection,'  the  ^erenth  *  Sabbath/ 
the  rest  of  the  week  numbered. 


A  Visit  to  BhawyVs  CoufU-ry. 


hilantion  of  wodky.  We  also  lefb 
on  that  daj,  and  perhaps  be  was 
the  less  agreeable  from  objecting 
on  principle  to  parting  with  cus- 
tomers on  the  day  of  rest. 

Here  we  really  did  encounter  the 
stir  caused  by  tbe  imperial  progress, 
the  Grrand  Dnke  Micbae],  Viceroy 
of  Cancasia,  being  expected  at 
Grosnai  next  morning.  Tbe  first 
tMng  in  preparing  for  a  journey  by 
the  Russian  post  is  tbe  'padarojnia/ 
or  order  for  horses,  for  there  is 
trouble  and  delay  in  getting  it, 
excepting  in  small  places.  My  ser- 
vant  was  occupied  for  hours  in 
Tainly  seeking  the  needed  authori- 
ties; they  were  away,  or  inacces- 
sible. The  chief  of  the  governor's 
staff,  a  mighty  German,  was  kind, 
bat  hopeless  of  our  getting  on  even 
if  we  found  horses  for  the  first 
5tj^.  He  promptly  and  precisely 
gaye  us  the  news  of  Sedan,  which 
(my  courier  being  a  German)  made 
US  both  for  the  time  almost  in- 
different to  our  difficulties.  I  re- 
peatedly found  the  best  news  of  tbe 
war  from  the  German  officers  in 
the  Russian  service,  who  had  direct 
telegrams  frequently. 

The  next  morning  rose  clear  and 
hot.    All — ^natives  and  Russians — 
were  agog,  and  absorbed  with  the 
imminent  advent  of  their  ruler.  I  had 
walked  through  part  of  the  dreary 
town — dreary  because,  Russian-like, 
it  seemed  spread  over  the  greatest 
possible  space — and  having  passed 
the  northern   gate  and  its  draw- 
bridge, was    strolling  among  the 
waiting  groups    and  the   soldiers, 
and  tbe  forty  or  fifty  horses  which 
were  brooght  in  readiness  to  gallop 
off  with  the  cortege.     Sundry  ranks 
of  Cossack  cavalry  were  there  to 
give  effect  to  the  reception,  arrayed 
in  their  full  uniform,  the  long  black 
coats  trimmed  with  red,  blue,  or 
white.     Soon    after  the  expected 
time  six  carriages,  each  drawn  by 
fi^e  or  six  horses,  tore  through  the 
town,  and  pulled  up  abruptly,  fol- 
V)wed  bv  the  Grosnai  staff.    The 

Grand  Duke  alighted,  and  received 
several  papers.  Romanov-like,  he 
is  large,  dignified,  and  pleasing. 
He  wore  then  the  plain  white  linen 
coat  and  flat  cap  of  the  *  service.* 
Many  w^ere  the  salutations,  while 
music  added  to  the  rather  singular 
effect  of  the  scene.  Horses  were 
soon  changed,  and  all  dashed  off* 
into  the  plain.  Through  the  cour- 
teous attention  of  the  German  offi- 
cer, padarojnia  and  horses  too 
were  soon  at  the  inn,  and  early 
in  the  afternoon  we  had  succeed- 
ed in  making  two  stages  towards 
Vladikavkaz.  Then  we  were  caught, 
two  other  parties  being  already  in 
the  same  fix ;  and  from  the  clear-' 
ance  of  post  and  other  horses  which 
were  used  or  retained  along  the 
imperial  route  for  draught  and  dis- 
play, it  was  absurd  for  travellers 
to  be  even  impatient. 

The  village  was,  like  most  others 
on  the  route,  well  planted,  mostly 
T^-ith  poplar  and  acacia,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  quadrangle  of  mud  wall, 
capped  with  the  common  chevaux  de 
frise  of  thorn  bushes  pegged  down  on 
the  inside.  I  amused  myself  for 
the  fii-st  time  with  spelling  out  the 
entries  in  the  postmaster's  journal, 
which  is  attached  by  string  and  seal 
to  its  desk.  Afber  a  wait  which 
seemed  less  weary  to  the  Russians 
than  to  the  Englishman,  a  '  fare  * 
arrived  from  the  westward;  and' 
we  succeeded  by  a  little  money  and 
a  little  self-assertiveness  in  getting 
the  starost,  or  master  of  the  station, 
to  give  us  at  once  the  returning 
vehicle.  The  post  rules  do  not 
allow  travellers  to  use  a  team,  ex- 
cept after  it  has  been  a  certain  time 
in  the  stable.  As  several  stages 
forward  were  farmed  by  the  same 
man,  we  paid  in  advance,  taking 
a  receipt,  which  amounted  to  a 
'  through  ticket.'  Not  the  least  ad- 
vantage  of  this  vms  the  avoidance 
of  the  need  of  carrying  change. 
The  currency  required  in  post  jour- 
neys in  the  Russian  dominions  being 
one-rouble  notes  and  copper  (even 


-4  "FwiY  to  ShamyVs  Couninf, 


the  recent  debased  small  silver 
being  scarce  in  some  districts), 
the  quantity  nsed  of  the  latter  is 
great;  indeed,  I  have  repeatedly 
started,  in  the  morning  with  as 
mach  as  a  pound's  worth  of  five- 
kopeck  pieces,  and  before  paying 
the  last  stage  of  a  long  day's  travel 
feared  lest  I  might  have  to  part 
with  a  rouble  (28.  6c?.)  to  cover  a 
few  odd  kopecks  in  the  charge. 
With  three  white  horses  we  careered 
over  the  dry  light  soil  and  the  dust- 
covered  weeds.  The  country  was 
uninteresting,  meagrely  cultivated, 
though  a  stanitza  or  village  of  a 
thousand  or  two  people  occurred 
every  four  or  six  miles. 

The  Sunsha  was  in  the  plain  to 
the  left,  and  to  the  right  a  low  range 
of  hills  formed  the  horizon.  The 
golden  'hunter's'  moon  rose  ex- 
actly behind  us  ere  the  long  stage 
was  ended,  and  when  the  journey 
was  resumed  its  disk,  then  silvery, 
was  just  in  our  faces.  The  post- 
master was  in  that  objective  mood 
to  which  enforced  laziness  and  other 
ungenial  circumstances  frequently 
reduce  his  ilhterate  class.  The  ten- 
dering influence  of  a  quarter  rouble 
in  acknowledgment  for  the  can- 
dle and  hot  water  for  tea  soon 
brought  him  to,  and  also  insured 
horses  before  dawn.  The  Russian 
'  post-house  affords  rooms  with 
wooden  benches  or  couches.  All 
provisions  are  carried,  but  fire  and 
water  can  generally  be  had  for  a 
gratuity.  For  the  last  stage  or  two 
zke  mountains  were  in  full  view, 
many  bold  peaks  clothed  in  snow. 
Afterwards  the  significant  Russian 
churches  rose  in  the  foreground, 
Vladikavkaz  seemed  interminable, 
but  passing  one  rambling  street 
after  another,  we  reached  *  Gostin- 
nitza  Noitaki ' — an  hotel  well  kept 
by  a  Greek  named  Noitaki.  After 
being  really  blackened  by  the  prairie 
dust  a  wash  was  not  a  short  busi- 
ness, and  it  behoved  a  stranger  to 
turn  out  in  his  *  best,'  considering 
the  bevies  of  smart  people  who  were 

doing  honour  to  a  high  day.  Tliere 
.was  a  muster  of  troops  and  mnch 

This    town— the    *Key  of    the 
Caucasus  '-—occupies  both  banks  of 
the  Terek,  where  it  issues  from  the 
Dariel  pass  into  the  open  country- 
It  is  at  equal  distances  from  theiiwa 
seas,  and  has  a  large  share  of  the 
traffic  pufising  from  one  to  the  other, 
as  well  as  of  the  intercourse  be- 
tween Russia  proper  and  Transcau- 
casia, the  Dariel  being  in  point  o£ 
fact  almost  the  only  road  between. 
Europe  and  Asia.      Vladikavkaz  is 
obviously  important  as  a  military 
position,  and  is  the  head-quarters 
of  a  large  force,  which,  with  its  offi- 
cers and  other  Government  attaches, 
imparts  some  gaiety  and  bustle  to 
the  place.  Parallel  with  the  river  is  a 
boulevard  a  mile  long;  the  Govern- 
ment buildings  in  it  are  handsome, 
and  many  other  structures  of  brick 
are    rising,    including    a    theatre. 
The   Terek   is   often  a    dangerous 
neighbour,  although  its  sides    are 
rocky;    it    has    destroyed    several 
bridges,  and  is  spanned  now  by  a 
good  iron  one,  and  by  another,   a 
mile  lower,  of  wood.     When  not  in 
clouds  the  mountains  yield  an  im- 
posing view  from  hence,  and  tlie 
river  rattling  over  its   stony  bed 
brings  a  cooler    air    towards    tlie 

I  was  so  lucky  as  to  find  a 
Northamptonshire  gentleman  and 
his  family,  from  whom  I  learnt 
much,  chatting  in  English  too  as  I 
did  not  again  for  many  weeks.  He 
is  a  Government  architect,  and 
showed  me  photographs  of  baths 
and  other  buildings  he  had  erected, 
both  at  Piatigorsk  and  Vladikav- 
kaz. Among  the  callers  at  his  house 
I  was  struck  with  the  juxtaposition 
of  a  true  Georgian  beauty  and  a 
young  Polish  Mussulman — the  very 
finest  eyebrows,  nose,  and  com- 
plexion, facing  the  plain,  intelligent 
visage,  and  small  dark  features  of 
the  Tartar  pedigree. 

For  company  and  economy  my 


A  VisU  to  ^hamj^Vs  Countnj. 


ooDiier  sought  some  one  with 
whom  I  could  agree  to  share  a 
good  tarantas  for  the  hundred 
and  tiurty  miles  hence  to  Tiflis. 
An  old  colonel  was  found  lodg- 
iog  on  the  side  of  the  boulevard 
opposite  to  Noitaki's  who  was 
waiting  for  some  one  to  join  him. 
He  had  a  carriage,  and  its  wheels 
were  being  re-tjred,  for  they  had 
come  direct  &om  Vologda,  and 
previously  from  Archangel!  His 
family  were  at  the  Caucasian  capi- 
tal, and  he  was  naturally  anxious  to 
finish  his  ride.  I  was  ready  to  ap- 
preciate the  roomy,  easy  accommo- 
dation of  the  tarantas,  afler  rough* 
ing  it  in  the  telega  of  the  ordinary 
traveller.  The  former  is  a  capacious 
and  hooded  body,  with  room  to  lie 
do?ni  in,  and  placed  on  two  long 
bearers,  which  are  not  too  thick  to 
allow  of  some  spring.  The  ends  of 
these  rest  on  the  axles.  Such  is  the 
vehicle  of  those  who  travel  far,  and 
who  can  afford  to  lay  out  from  30Z. 
to  60^.  at  the  coDunencement  of  the 
journey.  By  that  arrangement  bag- 
gage has  not  to  be  changed  at  the 
post  stations,  the  small  charge  at 
every  stage  for  the  use  of  the  tele- 
ga is  avoided,  and  a  private  bed  is 
secnredfor  that  rest  which,  whether 
travelling  by  night  or  not,  to  all  but 
the  toughest  is  needAil  in  a  week's 
journey,  and  indispensable  in  a  Sibe- 
riancontinuous  post  journey  of  thir- 
ty days  and  nights.  The  charge  for 
lu>rse8  is  the  same  whether  supplied 
to  the  private  tarantas  or  the  telega 
of  the  post  service,  unless,  indeed, 
the  stage  be  hard  or  hilly,  when  the 
postmaster  adds  to  the  team,  and 
the  owner  of  a  big  carriage  has 
to  pay  extra  though  the  pace,  per- 
haps, he  a  walking  one,  and  he 
himself  walk  too.  The  private 
carriage,  as  in  other  European 
countries,  bears  a  charge  at  the 
toll-bars,  which  occur  on  the 
better  roads. 

We  trotted  out  of  Vladikavkaz 
^  «^  good  chaussee,  which,  with 
the    grand     station-houses,     was 

ohiefly  the  work  of  the  late  Prince 
Voronaov.  The  shadows  were 
lengthening  and  gloom  slowly  en- 
wrapped the  massive  heights  as 
we  drew  near  them.  The  Terek 
was  on  the  lefl,  and  before  i^aach- 
ing  the  first  station  we  found 
the  road  washed  away  by  it,  so  the 
horses  had  to  make  their  way  for  some 
distance  over  the  wide  waste  of  stones 
which  the  torrent  often  suddenly 
includes  in  its  dreaiy  domain.  Lars, 
the  second  station,  is  closely  sur- 
rounded by  the  mountains.  Wo 
stayed  the  night  there;  the  house 
and  the  stables  were  handsome, 
well  built  of  hewn  stone,  and  spa- 
cious. Besides  the  reasonable  fit- 
tings to  a  room  of  sound  windows 
and  floor,  we  found  chairs  and 
tables  and  good  wooden  couches,  on 
which  one's  rugs  and  pillows  may 
be  appreciated  even  better  than  in 
a  tarantas.  The  style  of  the  route 
seemed  to  indicate  an  approach  to 
the  capital  (different,  indeed,  I  after- 
wards found  were  the  three  other 
routes  from  east,  south,  and  west, 
to  Tiflis).  The  horses,  however, 
we  understood,  have  been  a  con- 
stant exception;  overworked  and 
underfed,  they  were  a  disgrace  to 
the  post.  Five  were  attfushed  to 
the  carriage  next  morning;  on 
whipping  them  up  at  starting  they 
fell  at  once  in  a  heap,  and  eventu- 
ally seemed  but  able  to  draw  the 
vehicle  without  us. 

The  scene  grew  more  grand  where 
the  road  crosses  to  the  right  bank  of 
the  river,  and  rises  for  once  to  some 
height  above  it.  Putting  aside  the 
extravagant  language  of  Ker  Por- 
ter, and  also  of  more  recent  travel- 
lers, these  renowned  'Caucasian 
gates '  reminded  me  of  the  Finster- 
muntz.  Here  was  the  Dariel  defile, 
and  the  Russian  fortress  appeared 
crouching  among  the  mighty  piles 
of  mountain,  which  seemed  to  close 
the  way  both  behind  and  before. 
The  tumbling  of  the  Terek,  fresh 
fr*om  glaciers  and  snovrs,  was  the 
only  sound.     We  were  nearly  five 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country. 


ibonsand  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
the  nearer  heights  seemed  at  a 
similar  distance  from  ns.  Before 
Kasbek  station  was  in  sight,  a  bril- 
liant snow-top  suddenly  caaght  the 
eye  through  a  clefb  on  the  right, 
the  veritable  summit  which  English- 
men had  been  the  first  to  reach,  and 
it  was  from  that  station  that  Mr. 
Freshfield's  party  had  started  for 
their  celebrate  ascent  of  the  moun- 
fein  two  years  before. 

The  better  view  from  the  station 
itself  was  clouded,  and  the  weather 
became  dull  as  we  passed  the  Kres- 
tovya  Qora  (Cross  Mountain),  the 
received  boundary  between  Europe 
and  Asia,  and  the  watershed  between 
the  Terek  and  the  Aragva.  Trot- 
ting down  a  long  series  of  zigzags, 
we  made  a  sort  of  Spliigen  descent 
to  the  Georgian  valley.  The  old 
local  namesy  full  of  consonants, 
were  samples  of  the  hard- to-be-pro- 
nounced language  of  the  country, 
and  culminated  in  the  perhaps  un- 
surpassed monosyllable  Mtskhet,  the 
last  station  before  Tiflis. 

More  population,  mown  grass 
fields,  and  a  large  breadth  of  tillage, 
were  a  contrast  to  rough  uplands  and 
their  wild  people,  to  half-cultivated 
«teppe  with  untidy  natives  or  Eozak 
colonists.  The  afternoon's  ride  was 
picturesque ;  basalt  cliffs  rose  from 
the  liver,  and  there  were  neat  auls 
overhung  with  trees  and  surrounded 
with  little  fresh  corn-stacks.  The 
evening  shed  a  golden  and  then  a 
rosy  glow  on  the  wooded  slopes 
which  farther  on  encircled  Pasanur. 
Behind  our  quarters,  there  was  a 
specimen  of  the  ancient  Georgian  for- 
tress church,  with  the  short  conical 
roof  of  masonry.  In  another  direction 
stood  a  bran  new  wooden  Russian 
church,  its  bright  colours  staring  at 
every  comer.  A  rugged  street  was 
lined  with  cabarets  and  shanties. 

The  scenexy  of  the  next  day  was 
less  interesting,  the  hills  lower, 
and  the  country  generally  brushy. 

The  ride  was  stopped  at  Mtskhet 
with  the  news  that  nineteen  post- 
horse  orders  (padarojnias)  'were 
waiting  already;  so,  instead  of 
reaching  Tiflis  soon  after  noon,  ive 
dawdled  nine  hours  at  the  post- 
house  and  finished  the  journey  in 
pitch  dark,  entering  the  city  at 

At  Mtskhet  it  rained  so  as   to 
prevent    my    seeing    anything     of 
the  curious  village  (quondam  capi- 
tal   of   Georgian    princes)    or    of 
the   rather   inviting  ruins    of    an 
ancient    castle  on  the  hill  which 
rose  from  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
Kiir.      This     stream,     descending 
from  the  west,  passes  close  by  the 
post-house,  near  to  which  it  joins 
■  the  Aragva,  then  proceeds  to  Tiflis, 
and  eventually  reaches  the  Caspian. 
I  killed  time  in  watching  the  travel- 
lers, their  baggage  and  equipages, 
and  sometimes  succeeded  in  passing 
a  few  remarks,  many  being  educated 
men,  officers  of  a  regiment  then 
en  route  from  a  camp  in  the  south- 
east to  Vladikavkaz.     The  drain  on 
the  stables  of  the  post  was  great, 
and    the    trains     of    impedimenta 
which  we  had  met  belonging  to  this 
force  had  almost  blocked  the  road, 
especially  when  a   wheel  was  off, 
that  common  occurrence  in  Russia. 
Later  in  the  evening  came  the 
process  of  shilling  the  mails  from 
one    waggon    to    another.     Well, 
our  turn  came  at  last,  sure  enough, 
five  horses  at  a  good  trot.     We 
could  see  nothing  except  that  there 
was  nothing  particular  to  be  seen. 
At  the  end  of  a  long  stage  we  gra- 
dually found  ourselves  in  a  wide 
Russian     street,     with    petroleum 
lamps  glimmering  across  it;  very 
long  it  was,  but  a  short  turn  at  the 
end  of  it  brought  us  to  the  *  Hotel 
Europe.'     There  was  the  very  best 
of  quarters,  bed  and  boaitl.     Host 
and  hostess  Barberon  made  everj- 
thing  satisfactory,   though  it  was 
after  midnight. 




MARKHAM.— I  was  ^ruck  by  a 
remark  of  yours  the  other  day, 
Benisoxiy  as  to  the  irreconcilably 
vanons  opinions  held  on  certain 
points  by  men  of  superior  intelli- 
gence ;  and  set  about  in  my  mind 
to  recollect  examples,  especially  in 
the  department  of  literary  judg- 
ments, and  I  have  lately  spent  two 
wet  mornings  in  the  library  hunt- 
ing np  some  estimates  of  famous 
men  and  famous  works,  the  estima- 
tors being  also  of  note.  Most  of 
these  are  from  diaries,  letters,  or 
oonversations,  and  doubtless  ex- 
press real  convictions. 

Benison,  Will  you  give  us  the 
pleasQie  of  hearing  the  result  of 
Tonr  researches  ?  It  is  a  rather 
interesting  subject. 

Markhain,  I  have  only  taken  such 
examples  as  lay  ready  to  hand.     If 
Ton  and  Frank  are  willing  to  listen, 
I  will  read  you  some  of  my  notes ; 
and  you  must  stop  me  when  you 
have  had  enough.     First  I  opened 
onr  old  friend  Pepys.      Since  his 
Diary   was    decyphered  from    its 
shorthand  and    published   (as  he 
never  dreamed    it  would  be)  we 
think  of  Samuel  as  a  droll  gossippy 
creature,  but  he  bore  a  very  different 
aspect  in  the    eyes    of   his  daily 
associates.     Evelyn  describes  him 
as  *a  philosopher  of  the  severest 
morality.'      He   was  in  the   best 
company  of  his  time,  loved  music 
and  books,  and    collected    a  fine 
library.    He  was  a  great  frequenter 
of  the  theatres  and  a  critical  ob- 
server of  dramatic  and  histrionic 
art.  Well,  on  the  i8tofMarch,i66i, 
Mr. Pepys  suwRomeo  and  Juliti  ^  ^  the 
first  time  it  was  ever  acted ' — ^in  his 
time,  I  suppose—'  but  it  is  a  play  of 
itself  the  worst  that  ever  I  heard, 
and  the  worst  acted  that  ever  I  saw 
these  people  do.'     *  September  29, 
1662— To  the  King's  Theatre,  where 

we  saw  Mitlsummer  NigliVs  Dream^ 
which  I  had  never  seen  before,  nor 
shall  ever  again,  for  it  is  the  most 
insipid,  ridiculoas  play  that  ever 
I  saw  in  my  life.'  *  January  6, 
1662-3 — To  the  Duke's  House,  and 
there  saw  Twelfth  Night  acted  well, 
though  it  be  but  a  silly  play,  and 
not  relating  at  all  to  the  name  or 

Bemson.  Pepys  was  certainly 
sensitive  to  visible  beauty,  and  also 
to  music ;  to  poetry  not  at  all. 
Shakespeare's  fame  seems  to  have 
made  no  sort  of  impression  on  him. 

Frank,  We  must  remember,  how- 
ever, that  most  if  not  all  of  these 
that  Samuel  saw  were  adaptaiions^ 
not  correct  versions. 

Markham,  He  had  a  somewhat 
better  opinion  o£ Macbeth,  *  Novem- 
ber 5,  1664 — To  the  Duke's  House 
to  see  Macbeth,  a  pretty  good  play, 
but  admirably  acted.'  '  August  20, 
1666  —  To  Deptford  by  water, 
reading  Othello,  Moor  of  Venice 
[this,  doubtless,  was  the  original], 
which  I  ever  heretofore  esteemed  a 
DMg^^^y  good  play ;  but  having  bo 
lately  read  TJie  Advetiturea  of  Five 
Uoures,  it  seems  a  mean  thing. *" 
The  bustling  play  which  Pepys  so 
much  admired  was  translated  or 
imitated  from  Calderon,  by  one  Sir 
George  Tuke,  and  is  in  the  twelfth 
volume  of  Dodley's  Old  Plays, 
April  15,  1667,  ^^  B^^  ^^  ^^® 
King's  House  *  The  Change  of 
Croicmes,  a  play  of  Ned  Howard's, 
the  best  that  ever  I  saw  at  that 
house,  being  a  great  play  and 
serious.'  August  15,  he  was  at  the 
same  theatre,  and  saw  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,  '  which  did  not 
please  me  at  all,  in  no  part  of  it.^ 
'  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew  hath  some 
very  good  pieces  in  it,  but  i& 
generally  a  mean  play.'  (April  8, 
1667.)      Later  (November   i)   he 

^  Pepyfly  S^  edition,  4  toIs.  London,  1854. 


Some  Curiosities  of  Griticism. 


calls  it  *  a  silly  play.'  The  Tempest 
lie  finds  (November  6,  1667)  *  the 
most  innocent  play  that  ever  I  saw ;  * 
and  adds,  *  The  play  has  no  great 
wit,  but  yet  good,  above  ordinary 
plays.'  To  do  Samuel  justice,  he 
was  *  mightily  pleased'  with  Hamlet 
(August  31,  1668) ;  *  but,  above 
all,  with  Betterton,  the  best  part,  I 
believe,  that  ever  man  acted.' 

Franl;.  It  is  pleasant  to  part 
with  our  friendly  Diarist  on  good 
terms.  Honv  persistently,  by  the 
way,  Shakespeare  held  and  continues 
to  hold  his  place  on  the  boards 
amid  all  vicissitudes,  literary  and 
social.  This  very  year,  in  rivalry 
with  burlesque,  realistic  comedy, 
and  opera  houffe,  he  has  drawn 
large  audiences  in  London. 

Markham,  Whenever  an  actor 
appears  who  is  ambitious  of  the 
highest  things  in  his  art,  he  must 
necessarily  turn  to  Shakespeare. 

Benison,  That  double  star,  called 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  has  long 
ago  set  from  the  stage.  It  is  curi- 
ous to  remember  that  there  were 
hundreds  of  dramas  produced  in 
the  age  of  Elizabeth  and  James, 
no  few  of  them  equally,  or  almost 
equally,  successful  with  Shake- 
speare's ;  many  written  by  men  of 
really  remarkable  powers ;  and  that 
not  a  single  one  of  all  these  plays 
has  survived  in  the  modern  theatre. 

Frank.  Might  not  one  except 
A  N&iv  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts  of 
Massinger  ? 

Benison.  That  is  revived,  rarely 
and  with  long  intervals,  to  give  some 
vehement  actor  a  chance  of  playing 
Sir  Giles  Overreach.  The  Duchess 
of  Malfy  and  perhaps  one  or  two 
other  old  plays  have  been  mounted 
in  our  time  for  a  few  nights,  but 
excited  no  interest  save  as  curio- 

MarkJuim.  But  there  have  been 
fluctuatians  in  taste;  in  Pepys's 
time,  and  not  in  Pepys's  opinion 
merely,  the  star  of  Shakespeare 
was  by  no  means  counted  the 
brightest  of   the  dramatic  firma- 

ment.    I  have  a   note   here  from 
Dryden,  which  comes  in  pat.     In 
his  EsFay  on  Dramatic  Poetry^   b.e 
says  that  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
'  had,  with  the  advantage  of  Shake- 
speare's wit,  which  was  their  pre- 
cedent, great  natural  gifts,  improved 
by    study;    Beaumont,    especially, 
being  so  accurate  a  judge  of  plays 
that  Ben  Jon  son,  while  he  lived, 
submitted  all   his   writings  to   his 
censure.'     *I  am  apt  to  believe  the 
English  language  in  them  arrived 
to  its  highest  perfection.'     *  Their 
plots  were  generally  more   regular 
than  Shakespeare's,  especially  those 
that  were  made  before  Beaumont's 
death ;  and  they  understood  and  imi- 
tated the  conversation  of  gentlemen 
much  better.'  .  .  .  Their  plays  are 
now  the  most  pleasant  and  frequent 
entertainments  of  the  stage ;  two  of 
theirs  being  acted  through  the  year 
for  one  of  Shakespeare's  or  Jon- 
son's  ;  the  reason  is,  because  there 
is  a  certain  gaiety  in  their  comedies, 
and  pathos  in  their  more  serious 
plays,   which  suits  generally  with 
all  men's  humours.     Shakespeare's 
language  is  likewise  a  little  obso- 
lete, and  Ben  Jonson's  wit  comes 
short  of  theirs.' 

Frank,  It  is  very  comforting,  sir, 
to  find  the  best  holding  up  its  head, 
like  an  island  mountain  amid  the 
deluge  of  nonsense  and  stupidity, 
which  seems  to  form  public  opinion. 

B&iiison,  The  nonsense  and  stu- 
pidity are  only  the  scum  on  the 
top.  It  is  plain  that  public  opinion , 
or  rather  say  the  general  soul  of 
mankind,  has,  in  the  long  run, 
proved  to  be  a  better  judge  of  the 
comparative  merits  of  plays  than 
Dryden  or  Beaumont. 

Markliam.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  old  Ben's  Silent 
Woman  would  still  please  if  well 
managed,  and  Tlie  Fox,  too,  perhaps. 
They  have  more  backbone  in  them 
{pace  our  great  critic)  than  any- 
thing of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's. 
Bat  now,  with  your  leave,  I'll  ^o 
on  a  century,  and  pass  from  Pepys 


Some  Guriosiiies  of  Oriticisin, 


to  Doctor    Johnson    and    Horace 

Frank,  Who  by  no  means  formed 
a  pair. 

Markham,  Very  fer  from  it. 
Both,  however,  are  notables  in 
literaiy  history,  and  men  of  nn- 
donbtecl  acnteness.  The  Doctor's 
opinion  of  Milton's  sonnets  is  pretty 
well  known — ^those  *  sonl-animat- 
ing  strains,  alas  !  too  few,'  as 
Wordsworth  estimated  them.  Miss 
Hannah  More  wondered  that  Milton 
could  write  'snch  poor  sonnets.' 
Johnson  said,  *  Milton,  madam,  was 
a  genins  that  conld  cnt  a  colossus 
&om  a  rock,  but  conld  not  carve 
heads  upon  chexry-stones.'  * 

Take  another  British  classic. 
'Swift  having  been  mentioned, 
,  Johnson,  as  nsnal,  treated  him  with 
little  respect  as  an  author.'*  *  He 
attacked  Swift,  as  he  used  to  do 
upon  all  occasions.  .  .  .  I  wondered 
to  hear  him  say  of  Qullivei's  Travels^ 
"When  once  yon  have  thought  of 
big  men  and  Httle  men,  it  is  vexy 
easy  to  do  all  the  rest "  '* 

Gray  was  also  one  of  the  great 
Doctor's  antipathies.  *  He  attacked 
Gray,  calling  him  "  a  dull  fellow." 
BoswELL:  "I  understand  he  was 
reserved  and  might  appear  dull  in 
company,  but  surely  he  was  not 
dull  in  poetry  ?  "  Johnson  :  "  Sir, 
he  was  dull  in  company,  dull  in  his 
closet,  dull  everywhere.  He  was 
dall  in  a  new  way,  and  that  made 
many  people  caU  him  great. " '  * 

Nop  did  Sterne  fare  much  better. 
'It  having  been  observed  that 
there  was  little  hospitality  in  Lon- 
don— Johnson  :  "  Nay,  sir,  any  man 
who  has  a  name,  or  who  has  the 
power  of  pleasing,  will  be  very  gene- 
rally invited  in  London.  The  man 
Sterne,  I  am  told,  has  had  engage- 
ments for  three  months."  Gold- 
siirrH:  "And  a  very  dull  fellow." 
JOHUSOK: "  Why,no,  sir  "  '  ®  [1773]. 
^Nothing  odd  wiUlast  long.  Tristram 

Shandy  did  not  last.'  ^  *  She  (Miss 
Monckton)  insisted  that  some  of 
Sterne's  writings  were  verypathetic. 
Johnson  bluntly  denied  it.  "  I  am 
sure,"  said  she,  "  they  have  affected  * 
me."  "  Why,"  said  Johnson,  smil- 
ing, and  rolling  himself  about, "  that 
is,  dearest,  because  you  are  a 
dunce." ' « 

His  opinion  of  the  Old  Ballads, 
in  which  Bishop  Percy  threw  open 
a  new  region  of  English  poetry, 
was  abundantly  contemptuous. 

Benison.  It  must  be  owned  there 
were  a  good  many  blunders  to  be 
scored  against  old  Samuel — a  pro- 
fessed critic,  too,  who  might  have 
been  expected  to  hold  an  evener 
balance.  Speaking  of  Johnson  and 
poetry,  I  never  can  hold  the  Doctor 
excused  for  the  collection  usually 
entitled  Johtison's  Poets. 

Frank.  He  did  not  select  the 

Benison.  No,  but  he  allowed  his 
name  to  be  attached  to  the  work, 
and  there  it  remains,  giving  as 
much  authorisation  as  it  can  to  a 
set  of  volumes  including  much  that 
is  paltry  and  worthless,  and  much 
that  is  foul.  It  was  one  of  the  books 
that  I  ferretted  out  as  a  boy  from 
my  father's  shelves;  and  many  of 
the  included  'poets'  would  cer- 
tainly never  have  found  their  way 
thither  but  for  the  Doctor's  impri' 

Markham.  He  says  liimself,  in  a 
memorandum  referring  to  the  Lives, 
*  Written,  I  hope,  in  such  a  manner 
as  may  tend  to  the  promotion  of 
piety.*  ^ 

Benison.  I  remember  he  pooh- 
pooh'd  objections  made  to  some  of 
Prior's  poems;  but  Prior  at  least 
was  clever.  On  the  whole,  he 
evidently  allowed  the  booksellers 
to  take  their  own  way  in  the  selec- 
tion of  'Poets,'  and  did  not  hold 
himself  responsible  for  the  work  as 
a  whole — ^but  responsible  he  was. 

^  BoswelTs  Life  qf  Johnson,  Dlugtrated  library,  If.  207. 
•  n.  207.  »  ii,  21s.  •  ii.  145.  » ii.  287. 

•  iv.  82. 

*  it  48. 
•iv.  31. 


So^ne  GuriosUies  of  Criticism. 


MarJeham.  In  a  measure,  cer- 

Frank.  The  work  as  a  collection 
is  obsolete,  is  it  not  ? 

Benison.  I  believe  so,  and  many 
of  the  individual  writers  would  now 
be  utterly  and  justly  forgotten  but 
for  Johnson's  Lives.  But  you  have 
some  more  extracts  for  us. 

Markham.  Yes.  The  opinions  of 
Horace  Walpole,  an  acute  man  and 
fond  of  books,  of  his  predecessors 
and  contemporaries  are  often  curious 
enough.  Every  one  of  the  writers 
whom  we  are  accustomed  to  recog- 
nise as  the  unquestionable  stars  of 
that  time  he  held  in  more  or  less 
contempt.  And  remember  that 
Horace  collected,  selected,  and  most 
careMly  revised  and  touched  up 
that  famous  series  of  Letters  of  his. 
There  is  nothing  hasty  or  uncon- 
sidered. *  What  play '  (he  writes  to 
Lady  Ossory,March27,  I773),*makes 
you  laugh  very  much,  and  yet  is  a  very 
wretched  comedy?  Dr.  Goldsmith's 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer.  Stoopsindeed ! 
So  she  does,  that  is,  the  Muse.  She 
is  draggled  up  to  the  knees,  and  has 
trud^d,  I  believe,  from  Southwark 
Fair.  The  whole  view  of  the  piece 
is  low  humour,  and  no  humour  is 
in  it.  All  the  merit  is  in  the  situa- 
tions, which  are  comic.  The  hero- 
ine has  no  more  modesty  than  Lady 
Bridget,  and  the  author's  wit  is  as 
much  manquS  as  the  lady's;  but 
some  of  the  characters  are  well 
acted,  and  Woodward  speaks  a 
poor  prologue,  written  by  Garrick, 
admirably.'  *®  Of  the  same  comedy 
he  writes  to  Mr.  Mason : — *  It  is 
the  lowest  of  all  &rces.  .  .  . 
But  what  disgusts  me  most  is,  that, 
though  the  characters  are  very  low, 
and  aim  at  low  humour,  not  one  of 
them  says  a  sentence  that  is  na- 
tural, or  marks  any  character  at 
all.'  "  He  thus  notices  the  author's 
death: — 'Dr.  Goldsmith  is  dead. 
.    .   .   The  poor  soul    had    some- 

times parts,  though  never  commoiL 
sense.'  *' 

Dr.  Johnson's  name  always  put 
Walpole  into  a  bad  humour.  *  Ltet 
Dr.  Johnson  please  this  age  with 
the  fustian  of  his  stylo  and  the 
meanness  of  his  spirit;  both  are 
good  and  great  enough  for  the 
taste  and  practice  predominant.'  ^' 
'  Leave  the  Johnsons  and  Macpher- 
sons  to  worry  one  another  for  the 
diversion  of  a  rabble  that  desires 
and  deserves  no  better  sport.''* 
'I  have  not  Dr.  Johnson's  Litres. 
I  made  a  conscience  of  not  baying 
them.  .  .  .  criticisms  I  despise.'** 
*The  tasteless  pedant  .  .  .  Dr. 
Johnson  has  indubitably  neither 
taste  nor  ear,  criterion  of  judgment, 
but  his  old  women's  prejudices; 
where  they  are  wanting  he  has  no 
rule  at  all. ' '  ^  *  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
has  lent  me  Dr.  Johnson's  Life  cf 
Pope,  ...  It  is  a  most  trumpery 
performance,  and  stuffed  with  all 
his  crabbed  phrases  and  vulgarisms, 
and  much  trash  as  anecdotes.  .  .  . 
Was  poor  good  sense  ever  so  un- 
mercifully overlaid  by  a  babbling 
old  woman  ?  How  was  it  possible 
to  marshal  words  so  ridiculously? 
He  seems  to  have  read  the  ancients 
with  no  view  but  of  pilfering 
polysyllables,  utterly  insensible  to 
the  graces  of  their  simplicity,  and 
these  are  called  standards  of  bio- 
graphy ! '  ^^  * .  .  .  Yet  he  [Johnson] 
has  other  motives  than  lucre :  pre- 
judice, and  bigotry,  and  pride,  and 
presumption,  and  arrogance,  and 
pedantry,  are  the  hags  that  brew 
his  ink,  though  wages  alone  supply 
him  with  paper.' "  On  the  Doctor's 
manners  Horry  comments  thus 
mildly : — •  I  have  no  patience  with 
an  unfortunate  monster  trusting  to 
his  helpless  deformity  for  indemnity 
for  any  impertinence  that  his  arro- 
gance suggests,  and  who  thinks 
that  what  he  has  read  is  an  excnse 
for  ever3rthing  he  says.'  i*    Of  Dr. 

»» Tu.  508. 

»  T.  467. 
"  Tiii.  la 

"  yiii.  27. 

'  Ti.  109. 
^Tiii.  150. 

'  VI.  193. 
•  vL  302. 


Bonie  Ouriosiiies  of  Criticism. 


Jahnson's  Prayers  he  writes : — *  See 
Tvhat  it  is  to  have  fricDds  too 
faocest !  How  conid  men  bo  such 
idiots  as  to  execute  soch  a  trast? 
One  laogba  at  every  pa^e,  and 
then  the  tears  come  into  one's 
ejcs  when  one  learns  what  the  poor 
being  saffered  who  even  suspected 
Lis  own  madness.  One  seems  to 
bj  reading''  the  diarj  of  an  old  alms- 
woman  ;  and  in  fact  his  religion  was 
not  a  step  higher  in  its  kind.  John- 
eon  had  all  the  bigotry  of  a  monk, 
and  all   the    fully  and   ignorance 


*  Bosweirs  book  is  the  story  of  a 
mountebank  and   his  zany.'^i     «A 
jackanapes  who    has  lately   made 
a  noise  here,  one  Boswell,  by  anec- 
dotes of  Dr.  Johnson.'  ^*     *  Signora 
Piozzi's  book  is  not  likely  to  gratify 
ber  expectation  of  renown.     There 
is  a  Dr.  Walcot,  a  burlesque  bard, 
who  had     ridiculed     highly    and 
most  deservedly  another  of  John- 
eon's  biograpbic  zanies,  oneBos  well; 
be  has  already  advertised  an  Eclogue 
hdiceen  Bozzi  and  Piozzi ;   and  in- 
deed there  is  ample  matter.     The 
Signora  talks  of  her  Doctor's  ex- 
fa^yded  mind,  and  has  contributed 
ber  mite  to  show  that  never  mind 
"was  narrower.      In  fact,  the  poor 
man  is  to  be  pitied ;  he  was  mad, 
and  his  disciples  did  not  find  it  out, 
bat  have  unveiled  all  his  defects ; 
say,  have  exhibited  all  his  brutali- 
ties as  wit,  and  his  lowest  conun- 
dramsas  humonr.  .  .  .  What  will 
posterity  tbink  of  us,  when  it  reads 
what  an  idol  we  adored  ? '  *3     « She 
and  Boswell  and  their  hero  are  the 
joke  of  the  public'  ^* 

Walpole's  chief  poets  were  Dry- 
den,  Pope,  Gray,  and — the  Reverend 
William  Mason,  'a  poet  if  ever 
tbere  was  one.'  **  He  also  had  a 
jrreat  admiration  for  Mr.  Anstey.** 
He  desires  the  acquaintance,  he  says, 
of  the  author  of  the  Bath  Guide 

[Anstey]  and  the  author  of  the  ^erota 
Epistle  [Mason],  adding,  '  I  have  no 
thirst  to  know  the  restof  my  contem- 
poraries, from  the  absurd  bombast 
of  Dr.  Johnson  down  to  the  silly 
Dr.  Goldsmith;  though  the  latter 
changeling  has  had  bright  gleams 
of  parts,  and  the  former  had  sense, 
till  he  changed  it  for  words  and 
sold  it  for  a  pension.'  ^7  ]^Xr.  Ma- 
son's acquaintance  he  had  the 
privilege  of,  and  kept  up  a  profuse 
exchange  of  compliments  with  that 
great  writer  ('Your  writings  will 
be   standards,'**   *  Divine  lines,'** 

*  Your  immortal  fome,'  ^®  Ac.  Ac). 
Mr.  Mason  was  not  only  an  immortal 
poet,  bat  a  connoisseur  of  the  first 
water  in  the  arts  of  painting  and 
music.  Here,  by  the  bye,  is  his 
judgment  of  a  certain  musical  com- 
poser of  that  day  :  'As  to  Giardini, 
look  you,  if  I  did  not  think  better  of 
him  than  I  do  of  Handel,  my  little 
shoemaker  would  not  have  had  the 
benefit  he  will  have  (I  hope)  from 
the  labour  of  my  brain  [Mr.  M. 
had  been  writing  an  opera-book, 
Sapphoj  and  Giardini,  whoever  he 
was,  was  to  famish  the  music]. 
Let  Handel's  music  vibrate  on  the 
tough  drum  of  royal  ears ;  I  am  for 
none  of  it.'  ^* 

*  Somebody,*  says  Walpole,  'I 
fancy  Dr.  Percy,  has  produced  a 
dismal,  dull  ballad,  called  Tlie  Exe- 
cution of  Sir  Charles  Bawdin^  and 
given  it  for  one  of  the  Bristol 
Poems,  called  Rowley's,  but  it  is  a 
still  worse  counterfeit  than  those 
that  were  first  sent  to  me.'  '*  This 
was  one  of  Chatterton's  productions, 
but  after  the  boy's  miserable  death 
had  made  a  stir,  Walpole  thought 

*  poor  Chattertou  was  an  astonish- 
ing genius,'  ^  and  denied  that  he 
hs^  had  any  hand  in  discouraging 

To  turn  to  the  stage.  We  are 
accustomed  to  think  of  Garrick  as 

*».  II.  «Mx.  25.  "«.  45. 

""•375'  "ii.  12.  ''v.  458. 

*  Tii.  456.  "  vii.  26.  ■=  V,  389. 


"  ix.  48. 
»•  vii.  121. 
••  vi.  447. 

•*  ix.  49- 
»  vii.  84. 


Some  OuriosUies  of  Critieism. 


a  good  actor,  bat  Walpole  loses  no 
opportunity  to  sneer  at  him.  *  He 
has  complained  of  Mdme.  Le  Texier 
for  thinking  of  bringing  over  Cail- 
land,  the  French  actor,  in  the  Opera 
Comique,  as  a  mortal  prejudice  to 
his  reputation ;  and  no  doubt  would 
be  glad  of  an  Act  of  Parliament 
that  should  prohibit  there  ever 
being  a  good  actor  again  in  any 
country  or  century.'  •*  Being 
asked  to  meet  David  at  a  friend's 
house,  Walpole  writes,  ^Garrick 
does  not  tempt  me  at  all.  I  have  no 
taste  for  his  perpetual  buffoonery, 
and  am  sick  of  his  endless  ex- 
pectation of  flattery.'  '*  Of  Mrs. 
Siddons  he  writes  (in  1782,  after 
seeing  her  as  Isabella  in  The  Fatal 
Marriage),  *  What  I  really  wanted, 
but  did  not  find,  was  originality, 
which  announces  genius,  and  with- 
out both  which  I  am  never  intrinsi- 
cally pleased.  All  Mrs.  Siddons 
did,  good  sense  or  good  instruction 
might  give.  I  dare  to  say  that  were 
I  one-and-twenty,  I  should  have 
bought  her  marvellous,  but,  alas  ! 
I  remember  Mrs.  Porter  and  the 
Dumesnil,  and  remember  every 
accent  of  the  former  in  the  very 
same  part.'  *• 

Frank,  Johnson,  I  remember, 
though  always  friendly  to  his  old 
townsfellow  and  schoolfellow,  Davy, 
said  many  contemptuous  things  of 

Btnismi,  Peirhaps  rather  of  the 
art  of  acting.  He  certainly  thought 
Garrick  superior  to  almost  all  other 
actors.  Johnson  was  a  good  deal 
about  the  theatres  at  one  period  of 
his  life,  and,  as  we  know, wrote  aplay 
and  several  prologues  and  epilogues, 
yet  he  settled  into  a  conviction  of 
the  paltriness  of  acting. 

Frank.  As  Croethe  seems  to  have 

Benisoti.  The  Doctor  says,  for 
example,  that  a  boy  of  ten  years  old 
could  be  easily  taught  to  say  ^  To  be 

or  not  to  be  '  as  well  as  Garrick:. 
But  pray  go  on. 

Markham.  Neither  Sterne  nor 
Sheridan  pleased  Master  Walpole  a 
bit.  *  Tiresome  Tristram  Shundt/, 
of  which  I  never  could  get  thron^li 
three  volumes.'  ^^  '  I  have  reaxi 
Sheridan's  CriiiCf  but  not  having 
seen  it,  for  they  say  it  is  admirably 
acted,  it  appeared  wondrously  flat 
and  old,  and  a  poor  imitation.'  ^^ 

And  now  let  me  lump  in  some 
of  his  notions  of  more  distant 
literary  worthies.  •*  He  was  going- 
to  make  *  a  bower '  at  his  toy- villa 
of  Strawberry  Hill,  and  consulting- 
authorities.  '  I  am  almost  afraid  (he 
says)  I  must  go  and  read  Spenser, 
and  wade  through  his  allegories  and 
drawling  stanzas  to  get  at  a  pic- 
ture.*  *^  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Talcs 
are  *  a  lump  of  mineral  from  which 
Dryden  extracted  all  the  gold,  and 
converted  [it]  into  beautiful  me- 
dals.' ^^  '  Dante  was  extravagant, 
absurd,  disgusting :  in  shorty  a  Me- 
thodist parson  in  Bedlam.'  ^'  '  Mon- 
tague's Travels,  which  I  have  been 
reading ;  and  if  I  was  tired  of  the 
Essays,  what  must  one  be  of  these! 
What  signifies  what  a  man  thought 
who  never  thought  of  anything 
but  himself?  and  what  signifies 
what  a  man  did  who  never  did  any- 
thing ? '  *'  •  There  is  a  new  Timo7i 
of  Athens,  altered  from  Shakespeare 
by  Mr.  Cumberland,  and  marvel- 
lously well  done,  for  he  has  caught 
the  manners  and  diction  of  the  ori- 
ginal  so  exactly,  that  I  think  it  is 
full  as  bad  a  play  as  it  was  before 
he  corrected  it.'  ** 

Frank.  It  is  to  bo  hoped  that 
neither  Dante  nor  Shakespeare  will 
suffer  permanently  from  the  con- 
tempt of  Horace  Walpole. 

Benisofu  Nor  Johnson  and  Gold- 
smith, for  that  matter.  One  moral 
of  the  whole  subject  before  us 
is — not  that  we  are  to  despise 
criticism  and  opinion,  but  that  the 

•*  vi.  416. 
■•  vii.  291. 
«  viii-  235. 

•*  vi.  303- 
"  18  to  22. 
"  vi.  92. 

'  viii.  295. 
•  iv.  330. 

'  v.  91. 


Some  Curiosities  of  Criticism. 


eiiticxsms  and  opinions  of  even 
very  cleyer  men  are  often  extremely 
mistaken.  The  comfort  is,  as  Frank 
said,  that  good  things  do,  somehow, 
get  recognised  sooner  or  later,  and 
are  jojfollj  treasured  as  the  heritage 
of  the  human  race. 

Frafdc,  Take  away  BoswelVs 
Johnson — '  the  story  of  a  monnte- 
bank  and  hia  zany' — ^and  what  a 
gap  were  left  in  English  literature ! 
Markha^m.  Do  you  remember 
what  Byron  said  of  Horace  Wal- 
pole?  Here  it  is,  in  the  preface 
to  Mariiu}  Faliero  —  'Ho  is  the 
tdtimus  JKomanorum^  the  author  of 
the  Mysterious  Mother,  a  tragedy  of 
the  highest  order,  and  not  a  puling 
love-play.  He  is  the  father  of  the 
first  romance  and  of  the  last 
tragedj  in  our  language ;  and  surely 
worthy  of  a  higher  place  than  any 
living  author,  be  he  who  he  may.' 

Frank.  A  comical  judgment, 
truly,  if  sincere  I 

Benison.  I  believe  Byron  had  a 
deep  insincerity  of  character,  which 
ran  into  everything  he  wrote,  said, 
or  did. 

Markham.  And  now  listen  to 
Coleridge's  opinion  on  this  same 
*  tragedy  of  the  highest  order.' 
'  The  Mysterious  Mother  is  the  most 
disgusting,  vile,  detestable  compo- 
sition that  ever  came  from  the  hand 
of  man.  No  one  with  a  spark  of 
true  manliness,  of  which  Horace 
Walpole  had  none,  could  have 
written  it.' 

Frank.  Decided  difference  of  opi- 
nion 1  By  the  way,  it  is  Byron's 
distinction  among  English  poets  to 
have  heen  in  the  habit -of  speaking 
slightingly  of  Shakespeare  and  of 
Milton,  who  (he  observed)  •have 
bad  their  rise,  and  they  will  have 
their  decline.'  *® 

Jdarkham.  Let  us  return  to  Cole- 
ridge. Talking  of  Goethe's  Fwilst, 
after  explaining  that  he  himself  had 
long  before  planned  a  veiy  similar 
drama    (only  much    better)   with 

Michael  Scott  for  hero,  he  praises 
several  of  the  scenes,  but  adds, 
*  There  is  no  whole  in  the  poem ; 
the  scenes  are  mere  magic-lantern 
pictures,  and  a  large  part  of  the 
work  is  to  me  very  flat.'  More- 
over, much  of  it  is  *  vulgar,  licen- 
tious, and  blasphemous.' 

Frank.   By  my  troth,  these  be 
very  bitter  words  ! 

Markham.  Coleridge's  estimate  of 
Gibbon's  great  work  is  remarkable. 
After  accusing  him  of  '  sacrificing 
all  truth  and  reality,'  he  goes  on  to 
say: — *  Gibbon's  style  is  detest- 
able, but  his  style  is  not  the  worst 
thing  about  him.  His  history  has 
proved  an  effectual  bar  to  all  real 
familiarity  with  the  temper  and 
habits  of  imperial  Rome.  Few 
persons  read  the  original  authov* 
ties,  even  those  which  are  classical . 
and  certainly  no  distinct  know- 
ledge of  the  actual  state  of  the 
empire  can  be  obtained  from  Gib- 
bon's rhetorical  sketches.  He 
takes  notice  of  nothing  but  what 
may  produce  an  effect ;  ke  skips  on 
from  eminence  to  eminence,  withoat 
ever  taking  you  through  the  valleys 
between  :  in  fact,  his  work  is  little 
else  but  a  disgraised  collection  of 
all  the  splendid  anecdotes  which 
he  could  find  in  any  book  con- 
cerning any  persons  or  nations 
from  the  Antonines  to  the  capture 
of  Constantinople.  When  I  read 
a  chapter  of  Gibbon,  I  seem  to  be 
looking  through  a  luminous  haze 
or  fog:  figures  come  and  go,  I 
know  Jiot  how  or  why,  all  larger 
than  life,  or  distorted  or  disco- 
loured ;  nothing  is  real,  vivid,  true ; 
all  is  scenical,  and,  as  it  were, 
exhibited  by  candlelight.  And 
then  to  call  it  a  History  of  the  De- 
cline  and  Fall  of  the  Itoiuan  Empire ! 
Was  there  ever  a  greater  mis- 
nomer? I  protest  I  do  not  re- 
member a  single  philosophical 
attempt  made  throughout  the  work 
to   fathom  the  ultimate  causes  of 

**  Letter  on  Bowles's  Sixictures,  note.    Ltfe,  ^'C.  1839,  p.  696. 


Some  Curiositiea  ^of  GriHcism, 


the  decline  or  fall  of  that  empire.* 
After  some  farther  strictures,  Cole- 
ridge ends  thus : — *  The  true  key 
to  the  declension  of  the  Roman 
Empire — which  is  not  to  he  foand 
in  all  Gihhon's  immcDse  work- 
may  be  stated  in  two  words :  the 
imperial  character  overlaying,  and 
finally  destroying,  the  nah'owaZ  cha- 
racter. Rome  under  Trajan  was 
an  empire  without  a  nation.' 

Frank.  Coleridge's  two  words  are 
not  so  decisively  clear  as  one  could 
wish.  The  '  key  *  sticks  in  the  lock.^ 
But  his  criticism  on  Gibbon  cer- 
tainly gives  food  for  thought. 

Benison.  Gibbon,  however,  com- 
pleted a  great  book,  and  has  lefl  it 
to  the  world,  to  read,  criticise,  do 
what  they  will  or  can  with ;  whereas 
Coleridge  dreamed  of  writing  many 
great  books,  and  wrote  none.  He 
is  bat  a  king  of  shreds  and  patches. 

Markham,  Even  Hhe  Lakers' 
did  not  always  admire  each  other. 
*  Coleridge's  ballad  of  The  Ancient 
Mariner  (says  Southey)  is,  I  think, 
the  clumsiest  attempt  at  German 
sublimity  I  ever  saw.'  And  now, 
if  you  are  not  tired  out,  I  will  finish 
with  some  specimens  of  criticism  on 
works  of  the  last  generation  which 
(whatever  differences  of  opinion 
may  still  be  afloat  concerning  them) 
enjoy  at  present  a  wide  and  high 
reputation.  The  articles  on  Words- 
worth and  Keats  are  famous  in 
their  way,  but  the  ipsissima  verba 
are  not  generally  familiar.  Take  a 
few  from  Jeffrey's  review  of  The 
Excursion  (^Edinburgh  BevieWy  No- 
vember 1 8 14). 

*This  will  never  do.  .  .  .  The 
case  of  Mr.  Wordsworth,  we  pre- 
sume, is  now  manifestly  hopeless; 
and  we  give  him  up  as  altogether 
incurable  and  beyond  the  power  of 
criticism,  ...  a  tissue  of  moral 
and  devotional  ravings,  .  .  . 
*' strained  raptures  and  fantastical 
sublimities  " — a  puerile  ambition 
of  singularity  engitifted  on  an  un- 
lucky predilection  for  trnisms.' 

In  the  next  number,  I  see,  is  a 
review  of  Scott's  Lord  of  the  Isles^ 

beginning, '  Here  is  another  genuine 
lay  of  the  great  Minstrel.' 

Frank.  One  must  own  that 
much  of  the  Excursion  is  very  pro* 
saic ;  but  that  does  not,  of  course, 
justify  the  tone  of  this  review. 

MarkJiam.  And  here  is  the 
Qtiarterly  Bevima,  January  181 9, 
on  The  BcvoU  of  Islam,  'Mr. 
Shelley,  indeed,  is  an  unsparing 
imitator.'  'As  a  whole  it  is  in- 
supportably  dull.'  *  With  minds 
of  a  certain  class,  notoriety,  in- 
famy, anything  is  better  than  ob- 
scurity; baffled  in  a  thousand  at- 
tempts after  fame,  they  will  make 
one  more  at  whatever  risk,  and 
they  end  commonly,  like  an  awk- 
ward chemist  who  perseveres  in 
tampering  with  his  ingredients,  till, 
in  an  unlucky  moment,  they  take 
fire,  and  he  is  blown  up  by  the  ex- 
plosion.' *  A  man  like  Mr.  Shelley 
may  cheat  himself  .  .  .  finally  he 
sinks  like  lead  to  the  bottom,  and 
is  forgotten.  So  it  is  now  in  part^ 
so  shortly  will  it  be  entirely  with 
Mr.  Shelley: — ^if  we  might  with- 
draw the  veil  of  private  Ufe,  and 
tell  what  we  now  know  about  him, 
it  would  be  indeed  a  disgusting 
picture  that  we  should  exhibit,  bat 
it  would  be  an  unanswerable  com- 
ment on  our  text.' 

Now  a  few  flowers  of  criticism 
from  Mr.  Gifford's  review  of  Endy- 
mion,  a  poem,  in  the  Quarterly  Re- 
vieWy  April  18 18.  'Mr.  Keats  (if 
that  be  bis  real  name,  for  we  almost 
doubt  that  any  man  in  his  senses 
would  put  his  real  name  to  such  arhap- 
Body.'  .  .  .  'The  author  is  a  copyist 
of  Mr.  Hunt ;  but  he  is  more  unin* 
telligible,  almost  as  rugged,  twice  as 
diffuse,  and  ten  times  more  tiresome 
and  absurd  than  his  prototype.' 
'  At  first  it  appeared  to  us  that  Mr. 
Keats  had  been  amusing  himself, 
and  wearing  out  his  readers  with 
an  immeasurable  game  at  houls^ 
rimes ;  but,  if  we  recollect  rightly, 
it  is  an  indispensable  condition  at 
this  play,  that  the  rhymes  when 
filled  up  shall  have  a  meaning; 
and    our    author,    as    we     have 


Some  Curiosities  of  Orlticism. 


already  hinted,  has  no  meaning.' 
The  reviewer  ends  thns :  *  But 
enongh  of  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  and  his 
simple  neopb jte.  If  anyone  should 
be  bold  enough  to  purchaso  this 
"Poetic  Romance/'  and  so  much 
more  patient  than  ourselves  as  to 
get  beyond  the  first  book,  and  so 
much  more  fortunate  as  to  find  a 
meaDiDg,  we  entreat  him  to  make 
QS  acquainted  with  his  success ; 
we  shall  then  return  to  the  task 
which  we  now  abandon  in  despair, 
and  endeavour  to  make  all  duo 
amends  to  Mr.  Keats  and  to  our 

Benison.  You  remember  Byron's 
kind  remarks  on  the  same  subject  ? 
In  a  letter  from  Bavenna,  October 
20, 1820,  he  writes,  *  There  is  such  a 
trash  of  Keats  and  the  like  upon  my 
tables  that  I  am  ashamed  to  look  at 
them.'  '  Why  don't  they  review  and 
praise  Solomon's  Guide  to  Health? 
it  is  better  sense,  and  as  much 
poetry  as  Jobnny  Keats'.'  'No 
more  Keats,  I  entreat,  flay  him 
alive ;  if  some  of  you  don't,  I  must 
skin  him  myself.  There  is  no  bear- 
ing the  drivelling  idiotism  of  the 

Marhham.  The  Quarterly  in  March 
1828  had  another  generous  and  ap- 
preciative article  beginning — 'Our 
readers  have  probably  forgotten  all 
abont  ^^Bndymion^  a  Poem,"  and 
the  other  works  of  this  young  man 
[Mr.  John  Keats],  and  the  all  but 
universal  roar  of  laughter  with 
which  they  were  received  some  ten 
or  twelve  years  ago.' 

Bat  now  enough.  Only  I  should 
like  to  read  you  just  one  thing 
more,  which  is  less  known,  and 
presents,  perhaps,  the  extreme  ex- 
unple  of  Uterary  misjudgmcnt,  bj 
a  man  of  true  literary  genius — 
Thomas  De  Quincey's  elaborate 
review  of  Garlyle's  translation  of 
WiVydm  MeisteTj  in  the  London 
Magazine  for  August  and  September 
1824.  *  Not  the  basest  of  Egyptian 
snperstition,  not  Titania  under  en- 
chantment, not  Caliban  in  drunken- 
1N68,  ever  shaped  to  themselves  an 

idol  more  weak  or  hollow  than 
modem  Germany  has  set  up  for  its 
worship  in  the  person  of  Goethe.' 
A  blow  or  two  from  a  few  vigor- 
ous understandings  will  demolish 
the  *puny  fabric  of  babyhouses  of 
Mr.  Goethe.'  For  the  style  of 
Goethe  *we  profess  no  respect,'  but 
it  is  much  degraded  in  the  trans- 
lation, on  which  the  reviewer  ex- 
pends many  choice  epithets  of 
contempt.  The  work  is  'totally 
without  interest  as  a  novel,'  and 
abounds  with  *  overpowering  abomi- 
nations.' *  Thus  we  have  made  Mr. 
Von  Goeihe's  novel  speak  for  itself. 
And  whatever  impression  it  may 
leave  on  the  reader's  mind,  let  it 
be  charged  upon  the  composer.  If 
that  impression  is  one  of  entire  dis- 
gust, let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  it 
belongs  exclusively  to  Mr.  Goethe.' 

The  reviewer  is  annoyed  to  think 
that  some  discussion  may  still  bo 
necessary  before  Mr.  Goethe  is  al- 
lowed  to  drop  finally  into  oblivion. 

Benison,  You  have  not  quoted 
any  of  Professor  Wilson's  trenchant 
BlackivoodismsBLgeimst  *  the  Cockney 

Markh  am.  It  d id  not  seem  worth 
while.  All  the  bragging  and  bully- 
ing has  long  ceased  to  have  any 

Frank.  And  *  Maga's  '  own  pet 
poets,  where  are  they  ? 

Benison,  Let  echo  answer.  You 
might  easily,  Markham,  bring  to- 
gether some  specimens  of  misap- 
plied eulogy — of  praise  loud  and 
lavish,  given  (and  not  by  foolish  or 
insincere  voices)  to  names  and  works 
which  proved  to  have  no  sort  of 
stability.  Meanwhile,  many  thanks 
for  your  Curiosities. 

Frank  here,  whom  I  half  suspect 
of  a  tendency  to  authorship,  may 
take  a  hint  not  to  care  too  much 
for  censure  or  praise,  bat  do  his 
work  well,  be  it  little  or  great, 
and,  as  Schiller  says:  werfe  es 
schweigend  m  die  11/nendliche  Zeii, 
— '  cast  it  silently  into  everlasting 




THE  writer  in  a  recent  art-tonr 
to  the  North  of  Europe  promised 
himself  the  pleasare  of  making 
in  Copenhagen  a  more  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  Thorwaldsen  than 
had  been  practicable  in  Rome  or  in 
any  other  capital.  And  yet  the  works 
of  the  Danish  sculptor  are  widely 
diffused.  Travellers  know  full  well 
the  monument  to  Pius  VII.  in  St. 
Peter's  ;  on  the  Lake  of  Coroo  it  is 
usual  for  tourists  to  take  a  boat  to 
the  villa  where  is  seen  the  Triumph 
of  Alexander,  at  Lucerne  the  Lion  to 
the  Swiss  guards  is  known  as  well 
as  the  lake  itself,  in  Stuttgard  is 
shown  the  monument  to  Schiller,  in 
Mayence  the  figure  of  Gutenberg, 
in  Munich  the  noble  equestrian 
statue  of  Maximilian.  England  too 
is  in  possession  of  famous  or  no- 
torious works,  such  as  the  Jason, 
the  Byron,  not  to  mention  others. 
Still,  only  in  Copenhagen  can  the 
Phidias  of  the  North  be  fully  under- 
stood :  in  that  city  within  the  Royal 
Palace,  the  Frauen  Kirche,  and  the 
Thorwaldsen  Museum,  are  gathered 
the  rich  harvests  of  a  long  and  fruit- 
ful life. 

On  entering  Denmark  there  is 
little  in  the  aspect  of  nature  or  in 
the  character  of  the  people  which 
can  be  said  to  be  in  keeping  with 
the  genius  of  Thorwaldsen.  This 
small  peninsula  of  sandhills  is  about 
the  last  place  in  which  a  classic 
revival  could  have  been  looked  for. 
On  reaching  the  Great  or  the  Little 
Belt,  the  traveller  seems  to  have 
come  to  the  end  of  all  things ;  art  is 
nowhere,  and  Nature  herself  is  re- 
duced to  extremity.  The  land  holds 
its  footing  on  precarious  tenure ;  the 
sea,  which  is  seldom  out  of  sight, 
makes  inroad  on  the  shore,  small 
hillocks  are  sown  with  grass  w^hich 
binds  the  shifting  sands  together, 
and  flat  marshy  tracts  grow  scanty 
com,  or  are  turned  into  market- 
gardens.     Nor  does  Denmark  fur- 

nish the  physical  materials  for  the 
sculptor's  art :  in  the  whole  of  Scan- 
dinavia  indeed  there  is  scarcely 
a  bit  of  stone  which  Apollo  or 
Venus  would  care  to  be  carved 
in.  The  huge  granite  boulders 
scattered  on  the  road  to  Copen- 
hagen, migrated  from  the  north 
long  ago  as  strangers  and  pilgrims. 
These  antediluvian  monsters,  which 
travelled  on  the  backs  of  gla- 
ciers, have  consanguinity  with 
Thor  and  Odin,  and  the  race  of 
northern  giants,  but  possess  little 
in  common  with  the  ideal  types  of 
Greece  or  Italy.  Neither  are  the 
Danes  themselves  a  race  with  any 
near  relationship  to  undraped  gods 
and  goddesses.  The  rude  climate 
of  the  North  imposes  thick  covering 
of  fur:  hard  conflict  with  unkind 
Nature  induces  a  character  stern 
and  brave ;  a  struggle  to  sustain  a 
bare  existence  precludes  luxuries. 
There  would  appear,  in  short,  no 
room  and  little  need  for  classic  or 
ideal  art  among  a  people  whom 
stem  necessity  has  nmdo  plodding 
and  plebeian,  simple  and  frugal. 

Thorwaldsen,  born  in  Copenha- 
gen in  1770,  was,  like  some  other 
sculptors  who  have  gained  celebrity, 
of  humble  origin.  His  father  was 
by  trade  a  carver  in  wood.  Chan- 
trey,  it  may  be  remembered,  also 
commenced  as  a  wood-carver.  Like- 
wise, by  curious  coincidence,  Gibson 
at  the  age  of  fourteen  was  appren- 
ticed to  a  cabinet-maker,  and  a  year 
afterwards  was  cutting  ornamental 
work  for  household  furniture.  Many 
American  sculptors,  too,  are  of 
humble  birth  and  limited  educa- 
tion. Young  Thorwaldsen  followed 
his  father's  calling ;  he  carved  heads 
for  ships  in  the  Royal  Dockyard, 
and  received  some  education  at  the 
cost  of  the  State.  His  first  entrance 
into  the  sphere  of  art  proper  seems 
to  have  been  when  he  translated 
pictures  into  wooden  bas-rolie&.   It 


Thorwaldsen  in  GopenJutgen  aiul  m  Rome. 


may  here  be  of  interest  to  know 
that  for  centnrieB  there  had  snb- 
sisted  in  the  North  of  Europe  a 
school  of  wood-carvers  ;  not  merely 
a  few  scattered  men  occupied  on 
6^re-heads  for  the  ships  which  sail 
from  Copenhi^en  and  other  ports  of 
the  Baltic — ^a  handicraft  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  yielded  but  a  pre- 
carious livelihood  to  the  old  and 
the  young  Thorwaldsen — ^but  a  con- 
siderable body  of  artisans,  or  artists 
in  wood,  who  went  to  the  primBBval 
pine  forests  of  Norway,  Sweden  and 
XoKhem  Russia,  felled  timber, 
sawed  planks,  carved  barge-boards, 
lintels,  and  rade  but  picturesque 
furniture  for  wooden  houses  and 
wooden  churches. 

The  history  of  art  throughout  the 
world,  whether  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile,  of  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates,  in 
the  states  of  Ancient  Greece,  or  in 
Rome,  is  indissolubly  identified  with 
the  materials   found  on  the  spot. 
Granite,     sand- stone,     brick- clays, 
marbles,  have  severally  determined 
in  no  small  degree  the  specific  form 
of  national  arts.     The  granite  and 
primary  rocks    which    bound   the 
iron  coasts  of  Scandinavia  are  too 
difficult  of  workmanship  to  enter 
largely  into    the    constructive    or 
plastic  arts.     Hence,  resource  has 
natarally  been    had    to    the  pine 
forests.    The  iDtemational  Exhibi- 
tion of  Paris    proved  how  wood- 
carving  is  turned  to  secular  as  well 
as  to  sacred  uses  throughout  Scan- 
dinavia ;  and  the  Exhibition  at  St. 
Petersburg  in    1870,   both    in   its 
stnicture  and  contents,  gave  further 
illastration  to  an  art  which,  if  rude 
and  primitive,  has  claim  to  nation- 
ality.   The  traveller  in  these  lati- 
tndes  finds  himself  not  in  *  the  stone 
period '  or  *  the  iron  period,'  but  in 
^hat  may  be  termed  *the   wood 
period.'      Villages    are    of   wood, 
churches  are  of   wood,  and  when 
he  enters  a  museum  such  as  that  of 
'Northern    Antiquities*  in    Chris- 
tiania,he  discovers  the  historic  basis, 
in  a  long  line  of  descent,  for  this  art 

bom  of  tlio  forest.  At  least  as  far 
back  as  the  thirteenth  century,  are 
doors  from  churches  and  chairs  from 
houses,  carved  with  dragons,  runic 
knots,  and  other  grotesque  aevices 
known  to  Northern  antiquaries. 

This  slight  digression  may  be 
brought  within  the  argument  by 
one  or  two  brief  remarks.  First 
that  Thorwaldsen  was  true  to  the 
lineage  of  Scandinavian  art  so  long 
as  ha  carved,  like  his  forefathers,  in 
wood.  Secondly,  that  the  ambitious 
Dane,  when  he  migrated  to  Italy  and 
began  to  carve  in  Carrara  marble, 
suiTcndered  a  large  part  of  his  na- 
tionality. Thirdly,  that  the  style  of 
Thorwaldsen  in  some  degree  re- 
mained as  it  had  begun,  '  wooden  : ' 
that  Apollos,  Graces,  and  other 
newly-made  acquaintances,  from 
Olympus  and  Parnassus,  even  when 
chiselled  in  finest  marble,  never  quite 
threw  off  the  stiffness  and  awkward- 
ness of  the  wooden  figure-heads 
carved  in  the  Dockyard  of  Copen- 

The  story  of  the  young  Dane  is 
soon  told.  Thorwaldsen,  at  the  age 
of  eleven,  entered  as  a  free  student 
the  Academy  of  Arts  at  Copenhagen ; 
at  seventeen  he  gained  the  small 
silver  medal,  at  nineteen  the  large 
silver  medal ;  at  twenty-one  he  won 
the  small  gold  medal,  at  twenty- 
three  the  large  gold  medal.  During 
this  somewhat  brilliant  career,  the 
youth's  talents  attracted  attention ; 
in  fact,  a  subscription  was  raised, 
and  the  Danish  Academy,  which  to 
this  day  gives  generous  aid  to  art 
and  its  professors,  conferred  a  pen- 
sion on  the  sculptor  of  promise,  who 
was  about  to  bring  unexampled 
distinction  on  his  native  city.  That 
city,  when  the  boy  Thorwaldsen 
walked  through  its  streets,  wore  a 
widely  different  aspect  from  the 
Copenhagen  which  now  meets  the 
traveller's  eye.  It  had  not  been 
devastated  by  the  great  fire ;  it  had 
not  been  destroyed  by  the  English 
fieet.  Old  Copenhagen  was  not  spoilt ; 
yet  new  Copenhagen  had  not  arisai 


Thcncaldscn  in  Copenliagen  and  in  Rome, 


as  one  of  the  chief  art  capitals  in 
'Europe.  The  palace  of  Christians- 
borg  was  not  built ;  into  the  castle 
of  Rosenborg  had  not  been  gathered 
the  memoricJs  of  the  Danish  kings ; 
the  Museum  of  Northern  Anti- 
quities was  scarcely  begun;  the 
Classic,  Christian,  and  Ethnological 
collections  were  still  scattered,  or 
did  not  exist  at  all ;  the  foundation 
was  not  laid  of  the  new  Frauen 
Kirche,  now  famous  for  Thorwald- 
sen's  '  Christ  and  Apostles ;'  and  of 
course  the  crowning  pride  of  the 
nation's  art  treasures,  the  Thor- 
waldsen  Museum,  had  scarcely  a 
potential  existence  even  in  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  sculptor  whose  embryo 
genius  must  have  been  almost  as 
unknown  to  himself  as  to  the  world 
at  large.  Copenhagen  evidently 
had  in  those  days  few  charms  for 
Thorwaldsen.  She  failed  to  inspire 
him  with  patriotism.  He  left  the 
city  of  his  birth  in  1 796  with  but 
little  regret;  love  of  country  was 
not  awakened  till  the  weight  of 
years  warned  the  artist  to  prepare 
for  himself  a  sepulchre  among  his 

Thorwaldsen  became  severed  in  a 
double  sense  from  the  land  of  his 
birth :  firstly  by  change  of  domi- 
cile, secondly  by  the  adoption  of  a 
fityle  classic,  and  therefore  foreign. 
Yet  wo  wore  scarcely  aware,  before 
we  examined  on  the  spot  the  history 
of  Northern  art  and  academies  d  uring 
the  second  half  of  last  century,  bow 
strong  was  the  bias  towards  classic 
art  given  to  Thorwaldsen  in  his 
early  training.  The  so-called  na- 
tional movement  had  not  set  in.  At 
the  present  moment  there  exists 
what  is  called  the  national  party, 
animated  by  the  idea  that  Scandi- 
navia, including  of  course  Denmark, 
ought  to  break  loose  from  allegiance 
to  classic  and  Italian  schools,  in 
order  to  fashion  for  itself  an  art 
true  to  humanity  and  to  nature  in 
northern  latitudes.  We  incline  to 
think  that  the  best  hope  for  the 
future  lies  in  this  direction.     Tho 

school  of  Scandinavia  in  its  present 
phase  is  of  peasant  origin  ;  paintcra 
are  for  the  most  part  the  sons  of 
sailors,  fishermen,  and  tillers  of  the 
soil.  We  shall  have  to  regret  in 
the  sequel  that  Thorwaldsen  did  not 
cherish  with  affection  the  Noi-sd 
spirit.  The  special  point,  however, 
is  that  the  young  sculptor,  Tvhilo 
studying  in  the  Academy  of  Copen- 
hagen, was  not  taught  any  leg-iti- 
timate  national  art,  but  a  bastard 
classic  art.  The  French  school,  as 
represented  by  Poussin,  Lebrnn, 
David,  and  others,  is  identified  with 
the  rise  of  the  arts  in  the  capitals  of 
Copenhagen  and  Stockholm.  In 
Sweden  appeared  contemporanc- 
ously  with  Thorwaldsen  three  scnl{>- 
tors  of  high  renown — Sergei,  I?y- 
strom,  and  Fogelberg — ^artists  who, 
in  the  majority  of  their  works, 
showed  themselves  servile  disci- 
ples ,of  the  prevailing  classicism, 
in  Denmark,  also,  the  sculptor 
Wiedewelt  gave  currency  to  the 
widespread  revival  which,  having 
been  animated  by  the  discoveries 
in  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum,  was 
strengthened  through  tho  teach- 
ings of  Winckelmann.  Thus  tho 
path  wherein  Thorwaldsen  trod  be- 
came from  the  very  first  clearly 

Thorwaldsen  reached  Rome  oa 
March  8, 1797, and  so  important  was 
the  event  in  bis  life's  history  that  he 
was  accustomed  to  say, '  I  was  bom 
on  the  8th  of  March,  1797  ;  before 
that  day  1  did  not  exist.'  Goethe 
only  a  year  before  had  written,  *  A 
true  new  birth  dates  from  the  day  I 
entered  Rome.*  John  Gibson,  who 
migrated  southwards  twenty  years 
later,  had  like  reason  to  date  his 
intellectual  birth  from  his  arrival 
in  Italy.  It  is  interesting  to  read 
in  the  autobiography  of  the  sculp- 
tor whom  we  would  venture  to  call 
England's  Thorwaldsen,  tlie  follow- 
ing acknowledgment : — *  One  of  the 
great  advantages  I  derived  from 
residing  in  Rome  was  the  listeniog 
to  conversations  on  art,  not  onlj 


Tkorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


between  Canova  and  Thorwaldsen, 
bat  between  artists  of  talent  from 
all  coantries.'  The  careers  of  Thor- 
waldsen and  of  Gibson  from  first  to 
last  ran  in  parallel  lines ;  the  styles 
of  Canova,  of  Flaxman,  and  of 
Wjatt,  on  the  contrary,  present 
variety  rather  than  nnity. 

Daring  the  last  qnarter  of  the 
eighteenth  centnry  and  the  first 
qnarter  of  the  nineteenth  centnry, 
Winckelmann  and  Mengs  in  the 
Vatican  had  mastered  the  antique ; 
Goethe  had  published  his  Italian 
Tour;  Niebahr  and  Bonsen  had 
helped  to  place  the  history  of  Rome 
on  a  sound  critical  basis;  within 
the  same  period  had  arisen  a  school 
of  Christian  art  led  by  Cornelius 
asd  Overbeck ;  and  during  this 
self-same  half- century  lived  and 
worked  in  friendship,  or  under 
wholesome  rivalry,  Canova  the 
Italian,  Thorwaldsen  the  Dane,  and 
Plazman,  Wyatt,  and  Gibson,  Eng« 
lishmen.  Thorwaldsen  was  model- 
ling *  Mercury,'  'Venus,'  and  the 
•Three Graces;'  Frederick  Schlegel 
was  writing  laudatory  criticisms  on 
the  Christian  art  of  Cornelius  and 
Overbeck  ;  while  the  poet  Shelley, 
wandering  about  the  mountainous 
rains  of  the  Baths  of  Coracalla, 
composed  Prometheus  Unbound, 

Thorwaldsen,   however,    had  to 
endure  much  before  he  reached  to 
an  equality  with  the  great  men  of 
his  times.     On  his  first  arrival  in 
Borne,    what    chiefly    struck    the 
people  to  whom  he  carried  intro- 
ductions  was  his   profound  igno- 
rance.   One  of   his   kind    friends 
wrote  that  the  yoimg  Dane  was  so 
ignorant  as  to  be  unqualified  to  re- 
Oivre   the    benefits    which    Rome 
could  ofier.      The  aspiring  youth 
»%ma  to  havB  commenced  his  stu- 
dies in  Rome  pretty  much  at  the 
point   at  which  they  had  left  off 
in  Copenhagen.     Having  from  the 
fifsi,  as  we  have    seen,    addicted 
himself  to  the  antique,  he  natu- 
Kdly  began  by  making  copies  from 
the    master- works    in    the   Vati- 

can and  the  Capitol.  He  took 
the  studio  Flaxman  had  occupied ; 
he  lived  among  historic  traditions, 
and  fell  into  art  usages.  But  the 
lives  of  sculptors  in  Rome  repeat 
themselves.  Thus  Thorwaldsen  suf- 
fered the  fate  common  to  most 
artists  who  come  to  Italy  to  seek 
fortune — he  fell  into  pecuniary  dif- 
ficulties. Also,  like  other  young 
sculptors,  he  commenced  by  model- 
ing a  figure  as  the  first  pledge  of 
his  ability.  *  Have  you  seen  Thor- 
waldsen's  "Jason  ?"  '  was  then  the 
question  passed  on  from  studios 
to  cafes,  just  as  now  the  talk 
may  be  about  the  first  effort  of 
some  travelling  student  from  the 
London  Academy.  Canova  was 
at  that  time  umpire  of  disputed 
merit;  and  Canova  pronounced 
the  *  Jason'  'new  in  style  and 
grand  in  manner.'  And  yet,  though 
a  seal  was  thus  set  on  the  scnlptor*8 
talent,  the  work  did  not  sell. 
Driven  to  despair,  Thorwaldsen  de- 
termined to  return  to  Denmark. 
His  baggage  was  packed,  but  by 
chance,  when  he  was  about  to  start,  a 
flaw  appeared  in  his  passport.  The 
delay  of  a  day  was  the  making  of 
his  ibrtune  for  life.  Thomas  Hope, 
the  rich  English  patron,  entered 
the  young  sculptor's  studio,  and 
gave  a  commission  for  the  '  Jason ' 
on  the  spot.  From  that  moment 
Thorwaldsen  had  more  orders  than 
he  could  execute.  And  yet  the 
new  •  Jason '  was  little  more  than 
a  compilation  from  the  old  Apollo. 

We  have  sometimes  in  Rome 
wondered  how  artists  who  scarcely 
knew  a  Greek  letter  by  sight,  who 
could  barely  read  a  line  of  a  Latin 
author,  were  yet  living,  thinking, 
and  working  in  the  spirit  of  classic 
art.  But  there  on  the  spot,  the  pas- 
sion for  the  antique  seems  conta- 
gious. Moreover,  one  of  the  most 
ready  means  of  access  to  the  thought 
of  classic  times  is  through  antique 
marbles.  John  Gibson  was  accus- 
tomed, in  the  Caffe  Greco,  to  lay 
down  the  doctrine  dogmatically  thai 


Thorwcddsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Bonie. 


Phidias  and  others  received  inspi- 
ration from  the  Greek  philosophers 
and  poets.  So,  in  fact,  it  has  been 
in  all  times.  The  artist,  with  cun- 
ning hand,  gives  embodiment  to 
the  best  and  most  beautiful  ideas 
which  float,  as  it  were,  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  his  time  and  country. 
Thorwaldsen  was  doubtless  in  great 
measure  the  product  of  his  age — 
an  age  which  did  not  call  new  forms 
out  of  the  great  storehouse  of  na- 
ture, but  revived  old  forms,  the 
wrecks  of  an  old  world,  treasured 
in  museums.  He  who  has  spent 
his  mornings  in  the  Vatican  or  on 
the  Capitol,  who  has  wandered 
through  the  streets  of  Pompeii,  or 
studied  for  days  among  antique 
remains  in  the  Neapolitan  Museum, 
will  understand  how  Thorwaldsen 
and  Gibson  became  imbued — or 
fihall  we  not  rather  say  inspired  ? — 
by  classic  art.  Moreover,  minds  of 
artistic  intuition  take  fire  readily; 
they  pass  speedily  from  a  state  of 
torpor ;  an  electric  spark  leaps  from 
the  dead  marble  to  the  living  brain, 
so  that  the  dead  and  the  living  have 
one  life,  and  the  old  Greek  speaks 
through  young  Dane  or  Englishman. 
Thorwaldsen  was  classic  because 
his  days  were  cast  in  the  midst  of 
a  classic  revival,  and  in  him  that 
revival  received  its  truest  exponent. 
Coming  from  Copenhagen  an  un- 
educated youth,  in  Rome  he  grew 
into  the  greatest  sculptor  of  his 
times  ;  the  improvisatrice  Bosa 
Taddei,  declaiming  on  the  *  pro- 
gress of  sculpture,*  won  applause 
when  she  exclaimed,  '  Si  c'est  en 
Danemark  que  Thorwaldsen  est  ne 
k  la  vie,  c'est  en  Italic  qu'il  est  ne 
k  Tart.'  During  a  long  sojoura  in 
Borne,  the  famous  sculptor  enjoyed 
intercourse  with  Niebuhr,  Bunsen, 
Canova,  Cornelius,  Horace  Vernet, 
Mendelssohn — in  short,  with  men 
of  all  parties  who  had  become  con- 
spicuous by  talent  and  position. 
Yet  though  tolerant  of  all,  he  was 
identified,  as  wo  have  seen,  with 
the   dassiciste.      We    hear    of   a 

friendly  company  assembled  at  the 
house  of  Bunsen,  close  by  the  Palen- 
tine  Hill.  It  was  midnight,  and 
the  planet  *  Jupiter  sparkled  in  the 
sky  as  if  he  were  looking  down  on 
his  own  Tarpeian  rock.  We  were 
drinking  healths,'  writes  Niebuhr. 
*  I  said  to  Thorwaldsen,  "  Let  us 
drink  to  old  Jupiter."  "  With  my 
whole  heart,"  Thorwaldsen  replied, 
in  a  voice  full  of  emotion.  Some 
were  startled.'  The  simple  Scan- 
dinavian scarcely  realised  all  that 
might  be  implied ;  he  had  a  grand 
indifierence  to  the  conflicting  claims 
of  the  gods ;  on  change  of  domicile 
he  easily  transferred  his  faith  from 
Odin  and  Thor  to  Jnpiter  and 

Lessing,  Winckelmann,  Mengs, 
Goethe,  even  Madame  de  Stael, 
helped  to  prepare  the  mind  of  En- 
rope  for  that  classic  revival  which 
subsists — at  least,  in  the  art  of 
sculpture — down  to  our  own  days. 
Frederick  Sclilegel,  one  of  the 
earliest  champions  of  that  opposing 
Gothic  and  Christian  movement 
which  has  changed  the  aspect  of 
architecture  and  painting  within 
the  present  century,  made  sculpture 
the  one  exception  to  his  teachings. 
The  German  critic  admits  that  the 
Greeks  in  the  plastic  arts  '  reached 
an  eminence  which  we  can  scarcely 
hope  to  equal,  much  less  surpass.' 
He  further  writes  that  a  chief  *  aim 
of  the  sculptor's  genius  appears  to 
be  to  represent  a  classical  figure  in 
such  a  manner  that  it  might  even 
be  taken  for  an  antique,  like  Thor- 
waldsen's  Mercury,  which  appears 
as  if  girded  with  a  sword  only  the 
more  imperatively  to  announce  to 
hundreds  of  modern  statues  their 
impending  and  inevitable  doom.'  In 
fulfilment  of  this  prophecy,  uttered 
in  1 8 19,  we  may  say  that  the  Mer- 
cury lives,  and  will  live,  while  it 
were  well  if  many  marble  figures, 
then  and  now  produced  by  the  score, 
could  be  broken  up  to  mend  the 
roads.  Critics  a  century  ago,  de- 
voting themselves  to  a  strict  and 


Thoncaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Eome. 


close  stadj  of  antique  art,  parged 
the  schools  of  Michael  Angelo  and 
Bernini  from  mannered  grossness 
and  impertinent  frivolity.  Lesaing, 
in  the  *  Laocoon,'  lays  down  the 
principles  which  govern  the  purer 
styles  of  Thorwaldsen,  Flaxman, 
Wyatt,  and  Gibson. 

The    Phidias    of  Denmark  was 
never  inspired  by  the  spirit  of  Gothic 
art;  in  the  Thorwaldscn   Mnsenm 
we  do  not   recall  a  figure  which 
Epeaks  in  the    strong    accents  of 
Scandinavia.     On  the  other  hand, 
'Jason,'     'Venus,'     'The   Graces,* 
'Mercury,'    'Adonis,'    and    'Love 
Triumphant,'    might    almost    pass 
for  works  of  the  time  of  Pericles, 
or  rather  perhaps  of  Hadrian.     It 
is  scarcely  needful,  even  in  these 
realistic  and  naturalistic   days,  to 
defend  a  sculptor  for  the  choice  of 
subjects  far  removed   from  actual 
life.    It  might  be  urged,  in  accord- 
ance with    the    teachings  of   the 
critics  we  have  named,  that  it  is  the 
fnDction  and  the  privilege  of  the 
ideal  sculptor  to  raise  the   mind 
abore  the  level  of  conmion  nature. 
*  True,'  wrote  Mrs.  Jameson,.  '  the 
gods  of  Hellas  have  paled  before  a 
diviner  light ;    the    great  Fan   is 
dead.    Bat  we  have  all  some  ab- 
stract notions    of   power,   beauty, 
love,  joy,  song,  haunting  oar  minds 
and  illuminating  the  realities  of  life ; 
and  if  it  be  the  especial  province  of 
sculptore    to    represent    these    in 
forms,  where  shall  we  find  any  more 
perfect  and  intelligible  expression 
for  them  than  the  beautiful  imper- 
sonations the  Greeks  have  left  us  ? ' 
Goethe,  writing  from  Rome  ten 
years  before   the  arrival  of  Thor- 
waldsen,  raises  the  question  which 
lies  at  the  root  of  all  ideal  sculpture, 
a  question  asked  again  and  again, 
hoth  by  critics  and  artists,  how  the 
Greeks  'evolved  from  the  human 
form  their  system  of  divine  types, 
which  is  so  perfect  and  complete 
that  neither  any  leading  character 
nor  any  intermediate  shade  or  tran- 
sition is  waniaog.'    *For  my  part,' 

writes  Goethe,  '  I  cannot  withhold 
the  conjecture  that  the  Greeks 
proceeded  according  to  the  same 
laws  that  Nature  works  by,  and 
which  I  am  endeavouring  to  dis« 
cover.'  Raphael  had  somewhat  the 
same  thought  when,  after  deploring 
the  paucity  of  beautiful  women,  he 
says  that,  'to  paint  a  beautiful 
figure  he  must  see  others  more 
beautiful,  and  that  he  had  striven 
hard  to  attain  within  his  mind  a 
certain  ideal.'  Some  such  ideal, 
either  latent  in  Nature  or  patent  in 
Greek  art,  was  the  constant  pursuit 
of  Thorwaldsen  and  of  Gibson. 
The  search  after  beauty  was  with 
both  the  main  purpose  of  long  and 
laborious  lives.  Gibson  started  with 
the  maxim  tliat  the  Greeks  were 
always  right ;  he  was  known  to  say 
that  in  commencing  a  figare  he 
asked  himself  what  the  Grreeks 
would  under  the  circumstances  have 
done.  Thorwaldsen,  in  practice  at 
least,  conformed  to  the  same  prin- 
ciple. The  writer  once  heard  Gib- 
son describe  his  method  when  at 
work  on  the  '  Bacchus.'  '  I  chose,' 
he  said,  '  three  of  the  finest  male 
models  in  Rome,  and  when  the 
figure  was  somewhat  advanced  a 
female  model  was  also  engaged, 
because  the  Greeks  usually  threw 
into  Bacchus  female  traits.'  This 
anecdote  indicates  that  Gibson, 
hke  Goethe,  had  faith  in  high 
generic  types,  existent  not  only  in 
old  Greek  art,  but  in  living  nature. 
Gibson  would  not  admit  that  he 
neglected  nature,  and  yet  it  may 
be  safely  affirmed  that  he  never 
went  to  nature  without  Phidias 
at  his  elbow.  That  Thorwaldsen 
worked  on  like  principles  may  be 
proved  by  his  procedure  when 
modelling  his  'Venus.'  We  are 
told  that  no  less  than  thirty  models 
were  used  over  the  period  of  three 
years  devoted  to  this  faultless  work. 
Thorwaldsen's  Venus  is  the  highest 
embodiment  of  the  Goddess  of 
Beauty  since  the  time  of  the  Greeks. 
Canova's  Venus  and  Gibson's  Venus 


Thonoaldscn  in  Copenhageih  and  in  Bomc. 


are  inferior  wc»*ks.  The  unison  of 
conception  is  complete — the  thirty 
models  are  blended  into  one  god- 
dess— a  figure  which  seems  not  the 
compilation  of  years,  but  the  in- 
stantdneoos  issue  of  the  artist's 
brain.  Accidents  and  blemishes 
are  thrown  out ;  here,  in  short,  the 
generic  form  of  Greek  art  and  the 
typical  form  of  actual  nature  prove 
identical.  This  and  other  of  the 
sculptor's  ideal  figures  fulfil  the 
conditions  under  which  individual 
forms  may  assume  godlike  aspect. 
The  Greeks  said  Winckelmann  as- 
cended from  heroes  to  gods  *  rather 
by  subtraction  than  by  addition; 
that  is  to  say,  by  the  gradual  ab- 
straction of  all  those  parts  which 
even  in  nature  are  sharply  and 
strongly  expressed  until  the  shape 
becomes  refined  to  su*'h  a  degree, 
that  only  the  spirit  within  appears 
to  have  brought  the  outward  form 
into  being.' 

In  the  study  of  past  or  of  contem- 
porary art,  it  adds  lively  personal 
interest  to  learn  how  a  sculptor  or 
painter  catches  his  ideas,  and  in  what 
way  he  works  from  a  primal  con- 
ception to  an  ultimate  conclusion. 
Anecdotes  are  told  which  show 
how  Thorwaldscn  got  at  his  sub- 
jects, and  how  he  matured  liis  treat- 
ments. Sometimes  he  worked  from 
the  antique,  and  made  living  nature 
subordinate  and  accessory ;  but  oc- 
casionally nature  came  to  him  di- 
rect and  almost  unasked;  also,  at 
rare  intervals  art  conceptions  flashed 
across  his  imagination,  and  thb 
ideas,  when  once  conceived,  were 
thrown  speedily  into  clay.  Thus 
it  is  related,  how  that  felicitous 
composition  which  obtains  popular 
currency  throughout  Europe,  the 
bas-relief  of '  Night,'  was  conceived 
in  sleepless  hours  and  modelled  in 
the  morning.  In  this  instance,  at 
all  events,  speed  involved  no  imma- 
turity. Thorwaldsen  beyond  doubt 
was  overtaxed ;  he  took  commis- 
sions wholesale,  as  a  manufacturer 
rather  than  as    an    artist.      Still 

genius  it  is  hard  to  extinguish,  es- 
pecially when  access  to  nature  is 
not  cut  off.  Thorwaldsen,  too,  had 
acquired  the  wholesome  habit  of 
revising  his  sketches  and  of  matur- 
ing his  compositions;  he  placed 
himself  in  the  position  of  a  severe 
critic  on  his  own  creations ;  a  figure 
he  did  not  like  he  would  destroy ; 
or  else  would  go  on  working  till  iu 
good  degree  he  approached  his  ideal. 
His  resources  and  expedients,  as 
usually  happens  with  men  higMy 
endowed,  were  many  ;  his  modes  of 
procedure  changed  with  the  occasion ; 
in  advanced  life,  when  with  dimi- 
nished power  he  became  oppressed 
by  commissions,  at  the  time  in  fact 
when  with  impartial  indifference 
were  modelled  Hercules  and  the 
Twelve  Apostles,  he  fell  into  me- 
chanical and  routine  methods. 
Such  is  the  usual  fate  of  artists, 
who,  having  been  tried  in  the 
school  of  adversity,  forsake,  when 
success  comes,  the  narrow  way  for 
that  broad  road  which  leads 
through  prosperity  to  destruction. 
But  Thorwaldsen  in  his  young,  ar- 
dent, and  truth-seeking  days,  show- 
ed himself,  as  we  have  seen,  at  once 
the  severe  student  of  the  antique 
and  the  simple  child  of  nature. 
Accordingly  he  was  found  humble, 
cautious,  addicted  to  self-examina- 
tion. Even  when,  in  advanced 
years,  ho  made  studies  for  the 
Christ  now  in  the  Frauen  Kircbe, 
Copenhagen,  his  conscience  would 
not  allow  him  to  shirk  duty.  Gib- 
son, who  of  all  the  men  we  hare 
known  was  the  most  deliberate,  he 
touched,  retouched,  and  finished 
almost  to  a  fault.  On  the  other 
hand,  Crawford  and  some  other 
American  sculptors  sketched  as 
rapidly  and  carelessly  in  the  clay, 
as  artists  draw  in  pencil,  or  with  pen 
for  an  illustrated  newspaper.  Thor- 
waldsen in  some  measure  reconciled 
the  two  extremes,  he  was  swift  or 
slow  according  to  the  mood  or  the 
occasion.  His  Christ  is  scarcely 
less  carefully  thought  out  than  the 


Thorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


ceDtnd  head  ia  Leonardo's  'Last 
Sapper.*  Like  the  Chnst  in  HoU 
man  Hani's  '  l^'inding  in  the  Tem- 
ple,' it  was  studied  at  first  without 
drapeiy,  and  yet  the  action,  which 
is  aimitted  to  be  fine  and  felicitons, 
fixushed  upon  the  artist  in  a  mo- 
ment. It  is  related  that  on  a  cer- 
tain evening  as  Thorwaldseu  was 
leaving  his  studio  with  a  friend  he 
soddenlj  arrested  his  steps,  placed 
himself  in  front  of  the  Christ,  and 
there  remained  without  uttering  a 
word.  One  arm  as  modelled  in  the 
day  was  raised,  the  other  extended. 
Suddenly  the  artist  advanced  with 
firm  step,  as  when  a  person  has 
come  to  a  stroD^  resolve.  Thor- 
waldseu seized  the  two  arras,  and 
by  an  energetic  movement  brought 
down  both  equally;  he  then  re- 
treated four  or  five  steps,  and  ex- 
ckimed,  'Sec,  that  is  my  Christ; 
there  it  is,  and  so  it  shall  remain.' 

Oar  sculptor  in  his  work  showed 
much  versatility.  The  Thorwaldsen 
Museum,  Copenhagen,  proves  him  a  * 
man  prolific,  reiCdy  in  resource,  va- 
ried in  style.  The  subjects  range 
frommythologic  to  naturalistic,  and 
theace  to  spiritual  or  Christian. 
The  treatments  in  like  manner 
comprise  the  classic,  the  poetic,  and 
the  picturesque.  As  a  portrait 
BcoJptor,  Thorwaldsen  was  not  al- 
ways successful ;  indeed  the  figure 
of  Lord  Byron  which  ultimately 
finds  a  resting-place  at  Cambridge, 
is  notoriously  a  failure.  His  loid- 
ship,  it  is  said,  at  once  afiected  a 
strange  aspect;  'Keep  yourself 
tranquil,'  exclaimed  Thorwaldsen, 
*  pray  do  not  assume  an  expression 
fo  desolate.'  'That  aspect^'  replied 
Byron,  'is habitual  to  my  features.' 
Byron  never  liked  the  head  because 
it  did  injustice  to  his  melancholy. 
The  pisister  cast  for  the  Byron 
statue  now  in  Copenhagen  is  very 
badly  modelled,  the  style  of  exeou- 
tioQ  is  common.  Mrs.  Jameson 
denounces  the  work  as  'feeble, 
almost  ignoble,  and  without  like- 
ness or  character.'    The  monument 

to  Schiller  is  scarcely  more  success- 
ful ;  the  figure  is  wooden  and  stolid, 
and  without  play  or  movement. 
The,  sculptor's  heads,  though  strong- 
ly pronounced,  are  often  hard,  they 
lack  the  softness  of  flesh;  his  hands, 
however,  seldom  fail  in  form,  action, 
or  expression.  Fortunately  there 
are  portrait-statues  which  redeem 
the  artist's  credit.  Pius  VII.  for 
example  is  earnest,  quiet,  impres- 
sive. The  monument  to  Gutenberg 
assumes  an  aspect  more  pictur- 
esque; the  figure  has  strong  indi- 
viduality ;  the  costume,  freed  from 
academic  affectation,  corresponds  to 
the  dress  of  the  times ;  the  whole 
treatment  is  broad,  and  yet  in 
parts  sufficiently  detailed.  With 
like  vigour  and  fidelity  did  the 
sculptor  throw  off*  his  own  figure, 
chisel  and  mallet  in  hand.  In  look- 
ing at  this  stalwart  frame,  grand 
in  coronal  development,  broad  in 
shoulders,  massive  and  strong,  we 
seem  for  once  to  recognise  Thor- 
waldsen as  of  the  old  Scandinavian 
stock  ;  it  is  said,  indeed,  that  in  his 
veins  flowed  the  6ery  blood  of  the 
sea-kings;  certainly  his  head  and 
frame  are  as  little  Italian  as  Albert 
Diirer's.  Again,  for  an  equestrian 
statue,  Thorwaldsen  has  few  rivals — 
that  of  Prince  Poniato wsky  possesses 
dignity,  repose,  power.  The  essen- 
tial simplicity  of  the  artist's  style 
was  indeed  seldom  marred  by  affec- 
tation; the  forms,  if  overmuch 
generalised,  are  not  forced  from 
nature's  quiet  mean.  Maximilian 
I.  in  Munich  is,  with  the  exception 
of  Peter  the  Great  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, the  finest  equestrian  statue 
set  up  in  Europe  in  modem  times  ; 
it  has  more  fire  and  movement  than 
Chantrey's  cfligy  of  George  IV.  in 
Trafalgar  Square,  more  simplicity 
and  fidelity  than  Marochetti's  Carlo 
Alberto  in  Turin. 

Thorwaldsen,  like  Gibson,  proved 
himself  the  true  artist  by  living  in 
and  for  his  art.  Human  life,  ge- 
neral society,  even  incidents  in  the 
public  streets,  all  ministered  to  art. 


TJiorwaldsen  in  Co^enluxgen  and  in  Eome, 


The'\imter  used  to  notice  with  what 
avidity  Gibson  seized  on  everything 
that  could  be  thrown  into  a  statue 
or  bas-relief;  he  remembers  one 
morning  on  the  way  from  the  Caffe 
Greco  to  the  studio,  how  the  sculp- 
tor turned  round  and  watched  out 
of  sight  a  pair  of  noble  horses  in 
high  action.  Such  swift  movement 
GKbson  gave  to  the  well-known 
bas-reliefs  of  *  Phaeton  '  and  '  The 
Hours.'  The  writer  also  recalls 
an  evening  in  Gibson*s  rooms,  Miss 
Hosmer  and  Mr.  Penry  Williams 
being  of  the  small  company  assem- 
bled to  look  through  the  sculptor's 
sketch-books,  which  gave  abundant 
proof  that  it  had  been  Gibson's 
habit  to  note  down,  with  a  hand 
graceful  and  delicate  as  Flaxman's, 
any  incidents  in  daily  life  which 
might  serve  for  transfer  to  marble. 
The  Thorwaldsen  Museum  bears 
witness  that  the  prolific  Dane  was 
scarcely  less  observant  of  passing 
events.  Raphael  it  is  said  took  up 
the  head  of  a  cask,  as  the  readiest 
material  at  hand  for  an  impromptu 
sketch  of  a  mother  and  child  seated 
by  the  wayside ;  and  thus  originated 
the  circular  picture  known  as  '  La 
Seggiola.'  In  like  manner  Thor- 
waldsen took  advantage  of  a  pictur- 
esque figure  seated  in  the  Corso; 
he  sketched  on  the  spot  the  happy 
action  which  is  repi'oduced  in  his 
famous  'Mercury.'  Another  of  his 
most  charming  conceptions,  *Tho 
Young  Shepherd,'  was  suggested 
by  the  momentary  attitude  of  a 
young  shepherd  of  the  Gampagna. 
The  writer  remembers,  in  Florence, 
to  have  conversed  with  Mr.  Power, 
then  made  famous  by  *  The  Greek 
Slave,'  on  the  difficulty  in  these 
latter  days,  when  so  much  has  been 
attempted  both  by  ancients  and 
modems,  of  finding  for  a  figure  a 
new  attitude.  *  The  Mercury '  and 
'The  Young  Shepherd*  have  the 
unusual  merit  of  being  in  motive 
altogether  novel.  They  wear  the 
ease  and  the  freshness  of  nature, 
and  yet,  be  it  observed,   the  art 

brought  to  bear  has  raised  the  com- 
positions above  the  level  of  common 
nature.  Of  the  'Mercury'  Mrs. 
Jameson  says, '  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  quiet  grace  of  the  attitude,  and 
the  youthful,  god-like  beauty  of  the 
form.'  The  sculptor  has  imbued  a 
fine  type  in  nature  with  the  spirit 
of  the  antique :  the  figure,  in  fact, 
bears  out  the  remark  of  Goethe 
already  quoted,  that  the  Greeks 
worked  by  the  laws  whereby  Nature 
works.  Such  laws  partake  of  the 
eternal  and  the  immutable,  hence 
high  creations  in  art  pertain  not  to 
the  present  or  to  the  past  only,  but 
to  all  time. 

Thorwaldsen  eventually  became 
so  confident  of  his  power,  so  con- 
firmed in  his  method,  so  certain 
of  his  result,  as  to  work  without 
nature.  The  reader  may  be  shocked 
to  learn  that  when  in  1819  the 
dying  Lion,  since  cut  in  the  living 
rock  at  Lucerne,  was  modelled,  the 
sculptor  had  never  seen  a  lion. 
Thorwaldsen  took  his  lion  not  from 
nature,  but  from  antique  marbles ; 
the  proceeding  is  wholly  indefen- 
sible, yet  the  result  turned  out  well, 
and  the  reason  has  been  already 
indicated.  The  Greeks  worked  aa 
Nature  works.  The  Greeks,  as  Gib- 
son used  to  say,  are  always  right ; 
right  not  invariably  as  to  matters 
of  fact  or  of  detail,  but,  what  is  more 
to  the  purpose,  right  in  art  treat- 
ment. In  Lncerne  we  have  always 
been  disappointed  with  the  colossal 
monarch  of  the  forest:  the  Swiss 
artist  who  executed  the  work  spoilt 
the  design.  The  other  day  when 
the  writer  came  upon  the  orig-inal 
model  in  Copenhagen  he  was 
amazed  at  its  grandeur.  The  agony 
of  the  wounded  beast  is  not  pushed 
beyond  the  moderation  imposed 
upon  art.  Thorwaldsen,  though 
perhaps  not  so  much  ashamed  aa 
he  ought  to  have  been  when  he 
evolved  a  lion  out  of  his  inner 
consciousness,  eagerly  repaired  his 
want  of  knowledge  on  the  first  op- 
portunity.    Lions  came  to  Rome, 


Thorwdldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


and  he  made  their  personal  aoqnain- 
tance.  In  the  year  183 1  he  mo- 
delled '  Lore  on  the  Lion.'  He  had 
a  pretty,  playful,  and  pictorial  way 
of  composiDg  animals  with  figures, 
though  none  of  his  groups  have 
attracted  equal  attention  with  Dan- 
neker's  *  Ariadne  on  the  Panther,' 
koown  in  Erankfort  to  all  tra- 

On  the  arrival  of  the  ^gina 
Marbles  in  Italy,  the  Danish  sculp- 
tor, as  the  hest  authority  on  classic 
art,  was  entrusted  with  their  re- 
storation. A  large  plot  of  ground 
near  the  Corso  had  been  rented,  so 
that  the  figures  might  be  arftmged 
in  the  order  in  which  they  originally 
stood  in  the  pedinients.  The  whole 
task  occupied  a  year.  These  marbles, 
severe  and  sometimes  archaic  in 
style,  were  not  without  influence 
on  Thorwaldsen.  The  Caryatides 
near  the  King's  throne,  in  the 
palace  of  Christiansborg,  are  after 
theiEgina  manner ;  and  how  strict- 
ly the  modem  Danish  sculptor  was 
able  to  adapt  himself  to  a  Phidian 
or  pre-Phidian  art,  is  known  by  the 
faultless  restoration  of  the  Greek 
Caryatid  in  the  Nuovo  Braccio  of 
the  Vatican.  Between  this  severe 
kind  of  work  and  the  romantic  style 
dommant  in  the  '  Graces '  and  the 
'  Veaas,'  there  is  as  wide  an  inter- 
val as  between  Phidias  and  Canova. 
In  fact,  at  certain  moments  the 
vigorous  Dane  sought  to  emulate 
the  emaacnlate  Venetian.  Fortu- 
nately, his  innate  strength  saved 
him  £com  servitude  to  a  contempo- 
rary who  must  ever  rank  as  his 
inferior — at  least  in  manliness,  sin- 
cerity, and  simplicity.  It  is  the 
distinction,  in  fact,  of  Thorwaldsen 
that  he  stood  aloof  firom  the  graceful 
but  debilitated  romanticism  which 
1^  proved  the  bane  of  modern 
Italian  schools  and  their  several 
derivatives  throughout  Europe. 
He  thus  occupies  a  position  differing 
from,  if  not  superior  to,  that  of 
Schwanthaler,  of  Pradier,  and  of 
Wyatt.  And  yet  he  passes  occasion- 

ally from  treatments  strictly  classic 
to  styles  picturesque  and  naturalis- 
tic. In  fact,  when  modelling  that 
charming  little  bas-relief,  *  Cupid 
Mending  Nets,'  he  absolutely  de- 
scends into  genre.  After  the  same 
style  must  also  be  accounted  '  The 
Sale  of  Cupids,'  borrowed  from  a 
well- known  wall-painting  discovered 
in  Pompeii. 

Thorwaldsen  was  fearless;  he 
never  hesitated  or  halted  half-way. 
Thus,  in  the  vexed  question  of 
modern  costume,  he  sought  for  no 
compromise.  Occasionally,  how- 
ever, he  allowed  himself  a  classic 
subterfage,  as  in  the  figure  of  Schil- 
ler. But  mostly  he  took  a  matter- 
of-fact  and  common-sense  view  of 
portrait  sculpture.  Gibson,  on  the 
contrary,  was  so  committed  to  un- 
compromising classicism,  that  he 
has  been  known  to  justify  the  use 
of  antique  costume  by  appeal  to 
one  of  his  failures,  the  portrait 
statue  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  The  writer  remem- 
bers the  verbal  account  given  by 
his  friend  of  an  interview  with  the 
committee  who  sat  in  judgment  on 
the  figure:  *I  have  made,'  said 
Gibson,  '  the  head  the  best  possible 
likeness  of  the  man ;  but  I  cannot 
adopt  the  modem  costume.  A  states- 
man should  be  robed  as  an  ancient 
Greek.'  But  Thorwaldsen,  in  the 
figare  of  Gatenberg,  as  well  as  in 
his  own  portrait  statue,  adopted, 
without  compromise  or  subterfuge, 
the  actual  dress  of  the  day.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  more  is  thus 
gained  than  is  lost.  Indeed,  in  a 
portrait  statue,  ideality  must  be 
accounted  a  mistake ;  what  is  wanted 
is  not  ideality,  but  character  and 
individuality.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  mythological,  allegorical,  and 
poetic  subjects,  classic  costume  is 
appropriate.  Thorwaldsen  was  con- 
vinced of  this  obvious  distinction, 
and   adapted  his  practice   accord- 

This  versatile  Dane  had  yet 
another  development  in  the  direc- 

lliorwaUisen  in  Coiwuhagett  and  in  Rome, 


tion  of  bas-relief.     We  have  seen 
that  his  first  entrance  into  art  was 
by  way  of  translation  of  pictures 
into  carviugs  in  wood.     Wo  also 
know  that  throughout  Scandinavia 
there  existed  from  the  olden  time  a 
school  of  surface  decoration  which, 
though    rarely    extending    beyond 
grotesque  dragons   and  floral  and 
foliate  arabesques,  had  attained  to 
a  true  art  treatment.    Somehow,  at 
any  rate,  it  happened  that  Thor- 
waldsen  contracted  a  passion  for 
bas-relief — a  habit  cultivated    in 
common  with  the   greatest  of  his 
contemporaries,  John  Gibson.    But, 
again,  in  this  department,  we  are 
compelled  to  temper    praise  with 
blame.     The  Dane,  brought  up  in 
the  ways  of  a  wood-carver  in  the 
Dockyard   of   Copenhagen,    found 
it  by  no  means  easy  to  throw  off 
the  manufacturing  habit  once  con- 
tracted.  Thus  he  turned  out  whole- 
sale to  order  'The  Triumph  of  Alex- 
ander' in  the  space  of  three  months, 
a  composition  which,  though  sub- 
sequently revised,  still  retains,  even 
in  the  marble  frieze,  as  seen  by  the 
writer  last  summer  in  the  palace  of 
Christiansborg,  not  a  few  crudities 
and  solecisms.     In  the  Museum  of 
Copenhagen  the  number  of  these 
pictures  in  marble  is  amazing.  Some 
inay  fall  below   criticism,  yet  the 
average  merit  is  high.     As  usual, 
the  styles  are  varied;   they  pass 
from  the  classic  to  the  romantic, 
and    thence    to     the     naturalistic 
down  into  genre.     Little  short  of 
perfect  are  '  Alexander  induced  by 
Thais  to  burn  Persepolis,*  '  Cupid 
and  Bacchus,'  *  Cupid  and  Psyche,' 
*  Love  Caressing  a  Swan,'  and,  last 
but  not  least,  that  most  popular  of 
bas-reliefs,  *  The  Night.'   The  claims 
of    Thorwaldsen    as    a    Christian 
sculptor  may  be  best  considered  on 
his  return  to  Copenhagen. 

Thorwaldsen's  generosity,  like 
Gibson's,  expanded  chiefly  within 
the  sphere  of  his  art.  He  spent  a 
considerable  sum  on  the  pictures 
and    classic    remains     which     he 


bestowed  on  his  native  city ;  and 
his  time,  even  when  most  pressed 
with  work,  was  placed  at  the  ser- 
vice of  young  artists  who  could  profit 
by  his  counsel.  Gibson  pays  to  his 
senior  in  the  profession  the  following 
tribute : — 

It  is  time  for  me  to  aclcnowlcdgn  the 
great  obligations  I  owe  to  the  late  Cara- 
liere  Thorwaldsen.  He,  like  Canova,  was 
most  generous  in  his  kindness  to  yonng 
artists,  visiting  all  who  requested  his  ad- 
vice.  I  profited  greatly  by  the  knowledge 
which  this  splendid  sculptor  had  of  In^s 
art.  On  every  occasion  when  I  was  modelling; 
a  new  work  he  came  to  me,  and  corrected 
whatever  ho  thought  amiss.  I  also  often 
went  to  his  studio  and  contemplated  his 
glorious  works,  always  in  the  noblest  style, 
full  of  pure  and  severe  simplicity.  His 
studio  was  a  safe  school  for  the  young,  and 
was  the  resort  of  artists  and  lovers  of  art 
from  all  nations.  The  old  man*s  person 
can  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  saw 
him.  Tall  and  strong:  he  never  lost  a 
tooth  in  his  life :  he  was  most  veneraWe- 
looking.  His  kind  countenance  was  marked 
with  hard  thinking,  his  eyes  were  grey,  and 
his  white  loclus  lay  upon  his  broad  shoulders. 
At  great  assemblies  his  breast  was  covered 
with  orders. 

Gibson,  under  the  date  of    De- 
cember  4,  1841,  again  writes : — 

On  Sunday  morning  I  went  to  Thor- 
waldsen, not  having  seen  him  for  weeks. 
He  was  ill.  After  waiting  a  little  I  was 
told  by  the  maid  to  proceed  on.  I  had 
never  seen  a  maid-servant  there  before,  and 
as  I  went  through  the  rooms,  I  observed 
order  and  cleanliness  which  were  equally 
as  strange.  The  Baroness  von  Stampo 
met  me— Thorwaldsen*8  countrywoman— 
who  had  come  from  Co{>enha^en  with  him. 
She  conducted  me  to  his  bedroom,  where 
she  sat  at  her  needlework.  *  Ha !  I  am  so 
so  glad  to  see  you,*  said  he,  giving  me  both 
hands.  Nothing  could  be  more  benign.  We 
sat  down,  three  together — the  Baroness, 
the  old  Cavaliere,  and  myself.  There  waa 
not  only  reform  in  all  the  rooms,  but  tlie 
old  man  himself  was  made  new.  A  new 
green  velvet  cap,  beautifully  worked  and 
ornamented — a  superb  dressing-gown- 
Turkish  slippers— his  large  person— strong 
deep  expression — his  silvery  hair — his 
glittering  gold  earrings— he  looked  like  a 
grandee  of  Persia ;  no  longer  the  careless, 
clay-bedaubed  Thorwaldsen  in  the  midst  of 
confusion.  What  meddling  creatures  wo- 
men are!  thought  I.    *  Gibson,*  said  he, 


Thanoaldeen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Borne'. 

•Itm  UI,  HDd  theie  docton  torment  my 
life  ouu  Here  is  a  blister  on  my  lireast, 
and  one  on  my  ann,  yon  see.  I  iiave  no 
penence  vith  them.  Illness  is  come  now 
aponme.  Hal  itisoldage!'  He  dropped 
his  head,  elosed  his  fist,  compressed  nis 
lips,  nnd  there  was  a  dead  silence. 

Thorwaldscn  was  then  aged  71, 
and  had  bat  two  more  years  to 
live.  Gibson  had  reached  the  age 
of  50.  Ganova  had  been  dead  20 

A  comparison    saggested  more 
than  once  in  the  preceding  pages 
between  Tborwaldsen  and  Gibson 
may  be  made  in  a  few  words.    The 
style  of  each,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
strictly  based  on  the  classic,    jet 
with   a    difference.     Gibson    was, 
among   all    the    men    whom    the 
wnter  has  known,  distingoished  by 
singleness  of  aim  ;   he  set  before 
him  an  ideal  whic^  could  only  be 
approached  slowly,  reverently.   The 
patient  persistence  with  which  he 
matured  a  conception  and  perfected 
a  figure  is  sJmost  without  parallel. 
With  singular    strength    of   will, 
even  with  obstinacy,  he  pursued  the 
one  mission  of  his  life— that  of  re- 
TiTing  Greek   art    in    its    purity, 
beauty,  and  perfection.     The  me- 
mory of  this  true  artist  is  dear  to 
the  writer.    Pursuing  the  compari- 
son between  the  two  contempora- 
ries, it  may  be  said  that  Thorwald- 
sen  carried  ont  a  conception  with 
less  singleness  of  aim,   with  less 
consistency,  with  less  strictness  in 
the  elimination  of  foreign  elements 
and  conflicting  accidents.     In  the 
generalising  &culty  he  was  the  in- 
ferior, just  as  in  the  individualising 
power  he  was  the  superior.   Gibson 
was  more  of  the  Greek,  Tborwaldsen 
more  of  the  Teuton.    The  Dane,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  prolific  in  crea- 
.  tion ;  he  had  the  versatility  and 
umTcnality  which  attach  to  genius. 
On  the  whole  it  is  hard  to  pronounce 
either  sculptor  superior  or  inferior 
I     to  the  other ;   each  was  strong  in 
turns  and  in  his  own  way.    Thus 
Gihson's    Cupid    is    superior    to 


Thorwaldsen's  Cupid  ;  on  the  other 
hand  Thorwaldsen's  Venus  is  su- 
perior to  Gibson's  Venus.  The 
Hunter  of  the  one  and  the  Mercury 
of  the  other  have  about  equal  rank. 
Passing  to  the  sphere  of  Christian 
sculpture,  there  is  little  to  choose 
between  the  two  masters.  With 
indifference  to  creeds,  and  under 
the  one  endeavour  to  attain  a  beauty 
without  taint,  and  a  truth  without 
alloy,  were  approached  in  impartial 
spirit,  Jehovah  and  Jupiter,  the 
Christian  Christ  and  the  Pagan 
Apollo.  One  day  a  lady  entered 
the  Welshman's  studio  when  a 
Christian  bas-relief  was  on  view. 
*  You  see,  madam,'  said  Gibson,  *  I 
can  do  justice  to  a  Christian  sub- 
ject, though  I  do  not  go  to  church.' 
In  like  manner  Tborwaldsen  when 
asked  how  he,  as  an  indifferentist, 
could  expect  to  succeed  in  Christian 
art,  replied :  '  Have  I  not  modelled 
the  gods  of  Greece  ?  and  yet  I  do 
not  believe  in  them.'  But  the  final 
verdict  is  that  Gibson  and  Tbor- 
waldsen are  not  at  their  best,  nor 
within  their  appropriate  sphere, 
when  they  essay  Christian  art. 

The  styles  of  Tborwaldsen  and  of 
Canovalie  almost  too  widely  dis- 
severed to  admit  of  comparison. 
The  art  of  Canova  may  be  said  to 
resemble  modem  Italian  melodies, 
the  music  of  Bellini  or  Verdi  ;  his 
figures  dance  on  tiptoe,  his  dra- 
peries float  lightly  to  the  graceful 
movement  of  swelling  limbs,  his 
execution  is  sofb,  his  sentiment  ro- 
mantic to  extreme.  The  style  of 
Tborwaldsen  is  comparatively  harsh, 
even  his  *  Graces '  lack  grace,  his 
Unes  of  composition  are  sometimes 
unrhythmical,  his  execution  is  dis- 
tinguished by  vigour  rather  than 
by  delicacy. 

The  writer  knew  Rome  when 
Gibson  was  the  last  survivor  of  an 
illustrious  company :  Canova^  Tbor- 
waldsen, Wyatt,  had  been  taken 
away,  GKbson  alone  remained,  and 
to  him  seemed  committed  the  old 
traditions,   which    to  the  last    he 



ThorwaJdam  w»  Copenlkagen  <md  in  Borne, 


guarded  fiadthfully.  With  slow,  firm 
voice  hewafi  aocaBtomed  to  insist 
on  the  absolute  perfection  of  Greek 
art,  and  in  listening  to  his  earnest 
teadiing  the  mind  reverted  to  the 
day  when  Thorwaldsen  was  ani- 
mated by  a  like  £uth.  Thorwaldsen, 
it  is  said,  used  to  walk  throngh  the 
Vatican  as  one  lost  m  reverie;  pre- 
sent time  was  not,  the  historic  past 
became  to  him  present.  Had  Thor- 
waldsen and  Gibson  not  forsaken 
their  native  lands,  their  art  pro- 
bably would  never  have  command- 
ed the  attention  of  Europe.  They 
both  loved  Rome ;  they  could  not 
be  induced  to  live  or  labour  else* 
where.  Thorwaldsen  and  Gibson 
became  such  fixtures  in  Home;  as 
to  be  almost  immovable  bodily  or 

Thorwaldsen  visited  his  native 
ciiy  more  than  once.  He  had  left 
Copenhagen  in  poverty  and  obscu- 
rity— ^he  returned  crowned  with 
honours.  On  re-entering  the  city 
of  his  birth  he  was  fitted ;  the 
horses  were  taken  from  his  car- 
riage; subsequently  he  was  ap- 
pointed Councillor  of  State;  the 
Court  made  things  pleasant  for  him. 
Still  he  seems  never  to  have  been 
quite  comfortable  while  severed 
&om  his  associations  in  Italy.  His 
better  half  was  lefb  behind  so 
long  as  his  works  and  other  roba 
remained  in  Rome.  Thorwaldsen 
returned  once  more  to  Italy,  but  at 
length  a  frigate  sent  by  the  Danish 
Government  carried  the  sculptor 
with  all  his  belongings  to  the  city 
which,  his  cradle  once,  was  soon  to 
be  his  grave.  Copenhagen  honours 
'Thorwaldsen*8  genius.  The  royal 
palace  of  Christiansborg,  which  has 
an  extent  and  magnificence  more  in 
keeping  with  a  first-rate  power 
than  with  a  diminutive  kingdom, 
is  proud  in  the  possession  of  the 
famous  bas-relief  *  The  Triumph  of 
Alexander ;  *  the  Frauen  Kirche,  by 
the  presence  of  '  Christ  and  the 
Twelve  Apostles,'  has  become  a 
place  of  pilgrimage;  while  the  Thor- 

waldsen Museum  stands  as  the 
most  impressive  memorial  erected 
to  any  one  man  in  moderm  times. 

The  Thorwaldsen  Museum  is  al- 
most too  well  known  to  noed 
lengthened  description.  The  struc- 
ture raised  by  the  commune  of 
Copenhagen  with  the  aid  of  public 
subscription,  is  solid  and  sombre  as 
best  befits  a  sculpture  gallery,  and 
it  is  fitly  made  massive  and  sha- 
dowy as  an  Etruscan  sepulchre,  for 
the  coiurt-yard  in  the  centre  holds 
the  ashes  of  the  sculptor.  The 
design  both  inside  and  outside  is, 
like  the  majority  of  the  public  build- 
ings in  Copenhagen,  heavy,  unin- 
viting,  and  common-pla€».  Yet 
the  interior  has  the  one  merit  of 
showing  sculpture  to  advantage ; 
the  waJls  coloured  deep  maroon 
throw  into  relief  the  plaster  or 
marble  of  the  figures,  and  the  floors 
laid  with  a  rough  geometric  mosaic 
comport  well  with  the  plain  and 
substantial  character  of  the  struc- 
ture. The  Museum  as  a  whole  is 
well  arranged;  indeed  the  Danes 
have  a  faculty  for  organisation  ;  in 
no  city  are  art  treasures  better  dis- 
posed or  systematised  than  in 
Copenhagen.  Thorwaldsen  during 
his  lifetmie  was  consulted  by  the 
Government  on  these  matters,  and 
especially  as  to  the  best  means  of 
difiusing  taste  among  the  people. 
As  to  the  Museum,  the  Govern- 
ment of  late  years,  though  actua- 
ted by  the  best  intentions,  have 
fallen  into  error.  Commissions 
are  &om  time  to  time  given  to  ill- 
trained  and  necessitous  artists  to 
execute  in  marble  figures  which 
Thorwaldsen  bequeamed  to  his 
country  only  in  plaster,  hence  the 
vigorous  Dane  has  been  made  re- 
sponsible for  much  impotent  hand- 
ling. Accordingly,  French  sculp- 
tors, when  they  visit  Copenhagen, 
ask  whether  this  weak,  awkward 
manipulation  can  be  the  work  of 

The  Thorwaldsen  Museum  is  in 
more  senses  than  one  the  creation 


Thorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  B,m)ie, 


of  Thorwaldsen  himself.  The  build- 
ing was  commenced  in  his  life- 
time; he  manifested  personal  in- 
terest in  its  progress,  and  he  made 
sore  the  bequest  to  his  country  of 
his  models  and  art  qollections.  It 
is  related  how  Thorwaldsen,  on 
reaching  Ck>penhagen  in  1841,  im- 
mediately repaired  to  the  baildrng, 
how  he  ran  through  the  chambers 
with  enthusiasm  tiU  he  reached  the 
ceniral  court,  where  he  arrested 
his  steps  suddenly.  Standing  on 
die  spot  which  was  soon  to  be 
his  sepulchre,  he  bent  down  his 
head  and  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments in  silent  meditation.  Speedily, 
however,  the  soul  of  the  artist  re- 
Tived  within  him  ;  he  lived  once 
more  in  the  midst  of  his  works. 
And  now  Thorwaldsen  is  gone,  these 
his  creations  abide.  The  visitor 
enters  as  it  were  a  populous  soli- 
tude, he  is  in  the  presence  of  an 
august  assembly,  and  in  the  silence 
of  the  cool  sepulchral  chambers 
these  solemn  figures  seem  to  speak ; 
they  tell  of  a  life  of  lofty  aim,  of 
unceasing  effort,  of  a  labour  that 
never  relented,  of  a  steadfastness  of 
purpose  that  seldom  fell  short  of  the 
goal.  The  writer  has  known  the 
studios  or  the  collected  works  of 
Tenerani,  Gibson,  and  Wyatt  in 
Rome;  of  Schwanthaler  in  Munich; 
of  Ranch  in  Berlin,  of  Chantrey  in 
Oxford;  but  as  a  memorial  to  a 
devoted,  laborious  life,  the  Thor- 
waldsen Museum  in  Copenhagen 
transcends  all  parallel  collections. 

The  Eraueu  Kirche,  like  the  Mu- 
seum, is  in  architectural  keeping 
with  the  sculpture  it  enshrines. 
Thorwaldsen  after  the  fire  which 
destroyed  the  old  structure  was 
consulted  as  to  the  design  for  the 
new  church.  He  suggested  that 
the  figures  and  bas-reliefs  through- 
out should  embody  in  a  connected 
series  the  life  of  Christ.  The  idea 
has  been  consistently  and  impres- 
sively carried  out ;  on  either  side  of 
the  nave  stand  the  Twelve  Apostles, 
and  at  the  communion  table  Christ, 

with  outstretched  arms,  looks 
benignly  on  the  people.  The 
architecture,  though  poor  as  poor 
can  be,  has  one  merit  in  common 
with  that  of  the  Museum,  that  it 
does  not  militate  against  Thor- 
waldsen's  statues.  Furthermore, 
the  general  aspect  of  the  whole 
interior — architecture  and  sculp- 
ture combined — ^may  be  commended 
for  its  simpHcity — a  simplicity  no 
doubt  favoured,  if  not  imposed,  by 
the  Lutheran  faith.  One  point  is 
specially  worthy  of  observation : 
that  whereas  in  any  Roman  Catho- 
Kc  church  dedicated  to  the  Virgin, 
the  chief  altar  would  be  reserved  to 
the  *  Queen  of  Heaven ; '  here,  in 
Lutheran  Denmark,  the  ^ladonna 
scarcely  finds  a  place  anywhere. 
Christ  in  the  sight  of  the  peo- 
ple reigns  in  His  Church,  undis- 
puted King.  On  the  whole  we 
incline  to  think  that  Protestantism 
has  nowhere  obtained  a  more  cog- 
nato  art-manifestation  than  in  the 
famous  Frauen  Kirche  of  Copen- 

Thorwaldsen's  position  ^  as  a 
Christian  sculptor  has  been  stoutly 
contested.  In  Rome  '  the  Pietists,' 
or  ^Nazarenes,'  as  they  were  called, 
led  by  Overbeck,  put  themselves,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  in  deadly  anta- 
gonism to  Thorwaldsen  as  chief  of 
the  classic  or  pagan  propagandists. 
This  hostility  found  full  vent  when 
Cardinal  Gonsalvi,  on  the  death  of 
Canova,  handed  over  to  Thorwald- 
sen, an  alien  in  blood  and  religion, 
the  monument  to  Pius  VII.,  in 
St.  Peter's.  This  tomb,  even  after 
material  emendations  in  the  original 
design,  has  not  been  considered  a 
master  work.  Thorwaldsen's  posi- 
tion, then,  as  a  Christian  sculptor, 
rests  mainly  on  the  works  executed 
for  the  Frauen  Kirche.  On  ap- 
proaching the  church  the  pediment 
is  found  to  be  occupied  by  the 
Preaching  of  St.  John.  The  Baptist 
is  here  rightly  modelled  not  as  an 
ideal  but  as  an  actual  man,  and  his 
hearers  are  evidently  gathered  from 

F  2 


ThorwaMsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


the  common  people.  Thorwaldsen 
makes  no  attempt  to  elevate  his 
subject :  the  style  is  animated  and 
picturesque,  homely  stnd  unpretend- 
ing. On  entering  the  church  it  be- 
comes evident  that  Thorwaldsen 
has  striven  to  clothe  the  Twelve 
Apostles  in  Christian  dignity  and 
quietude.  Raphael  may  have  been 
his  exemplar ;  indeed,  one  or  more 
of  these  Apostles  might  claim  a 
place  in  the  cartoons.  It  is  said 
that  Thorwaldsen,  oppressed  by 
commissions,  found  time  to  work 
in  the  marble  only  on  the  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  the  two  figures  that 
hold  the  place  of  honour  next  to 
the  Saviour.  These  Twelve  Apostles 
it  were  in  Copenhagen  sacrilege  to 
speak  against,  yet  they  ai*e  far  from 
divine  in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
By  the  Sea  of  Galilee  they  never 
walked;  they* are  clad  as  Soman 
senators  or  Greek  philosophers: 
they  may  have  been  disciples  of 
Socrates  but  not  of  Christ.  Yet  the 
Saviour  commands  reverence.  The 
figure,  from  an  art  point  of  view, 
does  not  belong  to  the  early  Christian 
period;  it  does  not  correspond  to 
types  in  the  Catacombs,  or  in  the 
Mosaics  of  Ravenna  and  Rome :  it 
pertains  rather  to  the  style  of  Da 
Vinci  and  Raphael.  The  Saviour, 
with  outstretched  arms,  invites  all 
to  come  unto  Him  who  are  weary 
and  heavy  laden ;  the  Apostles  stand 
among  the  people  as  when  their 
Master  taught  and  fed  the  multi- 
tude. The  other  day,  as  we  listened 
to  the  singing  of  a  hynm  by  a 
crowded  congregation  within  this 
church,  Christ  and  the  Twelve 
seemed  present.  Yet  the  marble 
lived  not,  the  figures  did  not  speak, 

so  true  is  it  that  sculpture  is  a 
silent  art,  an  art  which  rests  in  high 
abstraction,  removed  from  the  ac- 
tuality and  the  turmoil  of  life. 

Into  this  church,  one  day  in  the 
month  of  March  1844,  the  body  of 
Thorwaldsen  was  bome,and  solemnly 
and  silently  did  the  figures  of  Christ 
and  the  Twelve  Apostles  look  down 
upon  the  cofl&n  when  lowered  to  the 
grave.  The  venerable  scnlptor  had 
died  suddenly,  full  of  years  as  of 
honours,  and  his  townsfolk  deter- 
mined  to  give  him  distinguished 
burial.  The  body  lay  in  state  in 
the  hall  of  the  Academy,  surrounded 
by  classic  master  works;  the  face 
was  uncovered,  the  head  crowned 
with  laurels.  On  the  coffin-lid  had 
been  traced  the  portrait-statue,  mal- 
let in  hand,  now  in  the  Museum; 
upon  the  black  pall  rested  the  sculp- 
tor's chisel. 

When  walking  the  other  day 
along  streets  the  gayest  and  bu- 
siest in  Copenhagen,  our  thoughts 
naturally  reverted  to  the  fhneral 
cortege  which  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury before  had  been  borne  by 
artists,  accompanied  by  singers,  to 
the  door  of  the  Frauen  Kirche. 
The  body  remained  four  years  in 
the  church  awaiting  the  completion 
of  the  final  sepulchre.  Now  in  the 
Thorwaldsen  Museum  all  that  is 
mortal  of  the  great  sculptor  rests, 
surrounded  by  his  life's  labours, 
and  twice  or  oflener  in  each  week 
the  doors  of  the  Museum  are  thrown 
open,  and  the  people  from  town  and 
country  come  in  crowds  to  visit  the 
grave  of  the  dead,  and  to  look  on 
the  works  by  which  Thorwaldsen 
remains  as  a  living  presence  in  the 
city  of  his  birth. 

J.  Beavinoton  Atkinson. 




TiniAT  are  tho  main  cbaracter- 
Y  Y  istics  of  human  life  in  ad- 
vancing years  ? 

There  are  several,  which  would 
be  better  away. 

The  natural  thing,  as  one  goes  on 
through  life,  is  to  be  going  down- 
hill. We  are  leaving  behind  us 
our  better  days.  We  grow  less 
warm-hearted  and  more  crusty  :  less 
confiding  and  more  suspicious :  less 
cheerful  and  hopeful.  It  is  with  us 
as  we  know  it  to  be  with  certain  of 
our  humbler  fellow-creatures.  How 
mach  less  amiable  a  being  is  your 
stiff  old  dog  of  twelve  years,  rheu- 
matic, fret&l,  listless,  snappish,  not 
to  be  touched  without  risk  of  a  bite, 
than  the  gay,  playful,  frisking, 
sweet-tempered  creature  he  used  to 
be!  That  hnmbler  life  runs  its 
coarse  faster  than  we  run  ours,  but 
the  conrse  is  the  same.  I  look  at 
mjonamiable  fellow-creature,  and 
think  There  is  what  I  shall  be. 

Bat  a  distinction  must  be  sharply 
made,  which  is  oftentimes  not  made. 
This  is  Uie  distinction  between  pass- 
ing moods  which  come  of  little  phy- 
sical causes  and  which  go  quite 
away,  and  the  downhill  progress 
which  is  vital,  essential,  and  ir- 
retraceable. Dyspepsia  and  nerve- 
weariness  may  for  a  day  or  a  week 
simulate  the  confirmed  despondency 
aad  testiness  which  will  come  when 
&e  machinery  is  breaking  down 
finally.  We  must  distinguish  be- 
tween the  passing  summer-cloud, 
and  the  drear  December.  There 
are  people  who  begin  too  soon  to 
regard  themselves  as  old :  to  watch 
for  the  signs  of  age,  and  to  claim 
its  onamiable  prerogatives.  It  is 
not  80  with  others.  I  find  it  stated 
in  Cockbum's  Life  of  Jeffrey,  that 
the  judge  and  Edinburgh  re- 
viewer at  a  certain  period  came 
^  the  conclusion  that  he  must, 
in  some  sense,  make  up  his 
mind  that  he  had  become  an  old 

man.  Looking  to  the  top  of  the 
page,  I  read,  JEt.  70.  I  rapidly  re- 
call a  well-known  assertion  of 
Moses :  and  think  Lord  Jeffrey  was 
not  a  day  too  early  in  coming  to 
that  conclusion.  But  one  has  known 
those  who  very  soon  after  forty, 
think  of  themselves  as  old.  Now 
at  that  period,  it  will  not  do  to 
yield  to  the  invasion  of  impatience, 
irritability,  despondency.  It  is 
merely  that  you  have  got  for  the 
time  into  what  golf-players  call  a 
hunker :  and  you  must  get  out  again. 
Some  day  you  may  get  into  the 
bunker,  and  abide. 

Before  going  on  to  the  main 
topic  to  be  thought  of,  let  a  word 
be  said  of  a  tendency  much  to  be 
guarded  against,  which  comes  with 
advancing  years.  It  is  the  ten- 
dency to  be  less  kind  and  helpful 
to  other  people  than  you  have  been 
heretofore.  I  do  not  mean  merely 
through  lessening  softness  of  heart : 
but  for  a  more  tangible  reason. 
You  are  a  fortunate  mortal  indeed, 
if,  as  yonr  life  lengthens,  you  do 
not  find  that  you  here  and  there, 
receive  an  evil  return  for  much 
kindness  you  have  shown  to  others. 
Some  man,  whom  you  have  helped 
in  many  ways,  who  has  many  times 
eaten  your  salt,  to  advance  whoso 
ends  you  have  taken  much  trouble 
in  ways  most  unpleasant  to  your- 
self, turns  upon  you  and  disappoints 
you  sadly  at  some  testing  time. 
Some  such  man,  under  no  special 
pressure  of  temptation,  proves  him- 
self both  malignant  and  untruthful. 
Personal  offence  you  readily  forgive 
and  forget :  but  doings  which  indi- 
cate character  cannot  be  forgotten. 
If  a  man  have  told  a  manifest  false- 
hood once,  it  must  be  long  before 
you  trust  him  any  more.  And, 
thus  disappointed  in  people  you 
have  known,  you  will  be  aware  of  the 
temptation  to  look  suspiciously  on 
new-comers:   to   resolve  that  you 


Of  Alienatiaiu 


sbalL  not  waste  kindness  on  those 
who  will  by  and  hy  turn  npon  you. 
For  we  are  too  apt  to  take  the 
worst  we  have  known,  for  our 
samples  of  the  race; 

Of  course,  unless  you  are  to  al- 
low yourself  to  settle  down  into 
misanthropy,  youmust strive  against 
all  this.  If  you  look  diligently,  you 
will  commonly  discern  some  ex- 
cuse for  the  wrong- doing  which 
disappointed  you.  I  do  not  mean 
that  you  ought  to  persuade  your- 
self that  the  wrong  was  right :  but 
that  you  should  admit  pleas  in  miti- 
gation of  judgment.  And  you 
ought  to  remember  a  most  certain 
fact,  which  is  practically  forgotten 
on  a  hundred  occasions  :  to  wit, 
that  in  dealing  with  human  nature 
you  are  dealing  with  imperfect  and 
warped  material,  and  you  must 
make  the  best  of  the  crooked  stick 
and  not  expect  that  it  will  act  as  if 
straight.  It  is  human  to  go  wrong, 
as  we  all  learnt  in  our  Latin  Gram- 
mar :  yet  we  all  tend  sometimes  to 
be  not  merely  angry  but  surprised 
when  we  find  that  i^e  fact  is  so. 

Then,  progressing  through  life, 
the  flavour  of  all  things  grows 
fainter.  They  have  not  the  keen 
relish  they  used  to  have.  And 
when  we  make  believe  very  much, 
and  try  to  keep  up  the  dear  old 
way,  this  will  sometimes  make 
us  bitterly  feel  that  we  are  practis- 
ing upon  ourselves  a  transparent 
delusion.  Let  the  name  of  Christ- 
mas be  said :  it  will  suggest  many 
things.  The  truth  is,  we  use  up 
our  capacities.  Our  moral  senses 
get  indurated  and  blunted.  And 
the  only  way  to  save  our  capacities 
is  not  to  use  them.  As  sure  as  they 
are  used,  they  must  wear  out.  It 
is  singular  to  see,  now  and  then, 
an  example  of  unused  capacities  of 
feeling  abiding  in  their  first  fresh- 
ness in  people  who  are  old.  An 
aged  bachelor,  marrying  late,  finds 
a  fresh  delight  in  his  children's 
ways  which  looks  strange  to  a  man 

who  married  at  a  normal  period  of 
his  life,  and  who  has  got  quite  ac- 
customed to  all  this.  I  defy  any 
mortal  to  be  always  in  a  rapture 
with  what  you  have  about  you 
every  day.  But  over  all  these 
notes  of  advancing  Ufe,  let  one  be 
named,  which  in  the  writer's  judg- 
ment is  its  main  characteristic :  It  is 

You  come  to  care  little  for  things 
and  people  for  whom  you  used  to 
care  much.  When  one  stops,  in 
the  pilgrimage,  for  a  little  while, 
and  tries  to  estimate  the  situation, 
and  to  think  how  it  is  with  one, 
many  (I  believe)  would  say  that 
here  is  the  thing  which  most  strikes 

Did  we  sometimes  wonder,  as 
children,  if  we  should  ever  come 
not  to  care  at  all  for  our  native 
scenes  ?  Did  we  not,  as  boys  and 
girls,  look  at  the  trees  and  fields  we 
knew,  and  the  little  river,  and  -won- 
der if  we  should  live  to  have  been 
for  years  far  away  from  them ;  and 
yet  not  care?  Did  we  wonder  if 
we  should  come  at  last  not  to  care 
for  our  father  and  mother,  and  onr 
little  brothers  and  sisters:  to  be 
separated  from  them  for  months 
and  years  and  not  mind  ?  A  cha- 
racteristic of  advancing  years,  I 
fear,  is  a  growing  selfishness  :  a 
shrivelling  up  of  all  the  real  inte- 
rests of  life  into  the  narrow  com- 
pass of  one's  own  personality.  Not 
indeed  in  all  cases,  but  in  many 
cases  it  is  so.  I  remark  how  men 
with  large  families  do  not  mind  a 
bit  though  their  children  are  scat- 
tered,  far  away.  I  used  to  wonder 
how  they  bore  it,  the  severance  of 
the  little  circle,  the  lessening  con- 
fideuce  as  the  little  creatures  grew 
older :  I  wonder  yet.  But  it  seems 
plain  that  there  are  men  and  wo- 
men, not  bad  men  and  women^  either 
as  the  world  goes,  who,  if  their  own 
worldly  comforts  are  provided  for, 
do  not  care  at  all  about  their 
children.  Sore  and  humbling 
alienation ! 


Oj  AlieiUtiion* 


Hie  infericH'  animitla  are  deyoted  to 
their  young  ones  with  an  affection 
which  transcends  hnmaa  deyotion, 
so  long  as  the  young  ones  need  tiieir 
affection.     When  the  yonng  ones 
come  not  to  need  them  any  longer, 
they  oome  not  to  oare  at  all  for 
those  yonng  ones :  even  not  to  re- 
cognise them  as  snch.    This  morn* 
bgy  being  in  a  Highland  glen,  I 
beard  from  the  hill  on  the  other 
side  of  the  riyer,  a  piteous  and 
heart-broken    bleating     of    many 
sheep.    Their  lambs  had  been  taken 
away  ftom  them.    What  an  amount 
of  misery  was  on  that  heathery  hill ! 
It  is  Tery  strange  and  perplexing  to 
think  how  these  poor  creatures  are 
not  only,  like  ns,  sensitive  to  phy- 
sical pain  from  material  causes,  but 
know   spiritual     sorrow,     coming 
through   the    affections.       I  have 
always  felt  that  the  argument  for 
immortalify,  drawn  from  the  im- 
nttteriaHty  of  that    in   us   which 
thinks  and  feels,  is  just  as  good  to 
prove  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
of  a  dog  or  a  sheep,  as  of  the  soul 
of  a  man.     And  I  have  often  wished 
that  one  could  look  into  the  heart 
of  some  suffmng  animal,  not  endur- 
ing pain  but  enduring  sorrow,  and 
anderstand  what  it  is  like.      As 
the  desolate  bleatings  went  on  all 
day,  it  was  sad  to  think  that  the 
poor  creatures  must  just  get  over 
their  sorrow*     They  would  never 
see  their   lambs  again.     And   in 
a  few  days  they  would  not  miss 
t^em.    Just  the  like  you  may  see, 
many  times,  in  human  beings.     The 
hmnan  being  gets  over  things  more 
slowly,  but  just  as  entirely.     The 
mother  thai  carefully  wrapped  up 
a  lock  of  her  little  boy's  hair,  and 
kept  it  amid  her  treasures,  possibly 
after  five  and  twenty  years,  the  boy 
bmg  grown  up  and  having  married 
some  one  she  did  not  like,  develops 
iato  tiie  nqr^nting  persecutor:  of 
her  son.    The  UUle  .boy  that  goes 
away  to  Sf^ipol,  homesick  andhef^rtf 
brok^,  '.Hy^  to  outgrow  all  that 
tenderness  of  feeling,-~not  a  sham 

cynic,  which  is  silly,  but  a  real  one, 
which  is  hateful.  Brothers,  once 
always  together  in  lessons  and  in 
play,  are  set  down  in  life  far  apart, 
and  get  out  of  the  way  of  writing  to 
one  another,  and  become  little  o&er 
than  strangers.  A  lad  goes  out 
from  his  home,  away  to  another 
country,  to  make  his  way  in  life : 
how  biUer  a  price  we  pay  in  part- 
ings  for  our  Indian  empire !  But 
year  after  year  goes  over :  and  he 
lives  on  in  the  distant  place,  with  a 
life  quite  severed  from  the  old  life 
of  home  :  the  short  perfunctory 
letters  showing  sadly  to  the  ageing 
parent's  heart  what  a  severance 
time  and  space  have  made.  I  re- 
member how  as  a  boy  I  used  to 
wonder  that  a  jocular  puffy  old 
gentleman  could  live  on  quite 
jovially,  while  one  boy  was  in  India, 
another  in  New  Zealand,  another 
in  Jamaica.  I  thought  of  rosy  Httle 
faces,  with  curly  hair,  gathering  at 
the  father's  knee  by  the  winter  fire- 
side to  hear  a  story ;  not  trusted 
for  an  hour  out  of  sight :  running 
to  their  mother  with  every  little 
trouble.  While  the  fact  was  of  hard 
worldly  countenances  with  the  big 
moustache  and  the  grizzling  hair 
and  the  indurated  h^art;  of  men 
who,  coming  home,  would  have 
found  father  and  mother  a  bore,, 
and  treated  them  with  thinly 
disguised  impatience:  of  souls  in- 
troduced into  a  region  of  new  carea 
and  thoughts,  of  which  parents 
knew  nothing,  and  of  which  they 
never  would  be  told.  The  rift 
must  come,  must  widen  with  ad- 
vancing time :  Not  more  really  were 
the  sheep  and  their  lambs  separated, 
than  parents  and  children,  in  most 
cases,  by  sad  necessity  must  be. 
And  it  used  to  seem  to  me  strange]^ 
still,  when  news  came  to  the  parents 
in  Scotland  that  their  boy  had  died, 
far  away:  when  one  asked  how 
many  years  had  parsed  since  they 
saw  him  last,  and  was  told  eight, 
jben,  fifteen  years.  How  little  they 
knew  what  the  man  was  like  that 


0/  AUenatian. 


died !  The  son  they  knew  had  died 
out  of  this  world  long  before :  and 
there  was  a  hord-featored  stranger 
in  his  place,  engaged  in  some  bnsi- 
ness  of  which  they  understood  little, 
and  perhaps  with  a  great  hoasehold 
of  children  of  whom  the  old  parents 
at  home  hardly  knew  the  names. 
Death  had  -barely  increased  the 
alienation  which  continaing  life  had 
.  made.  Let  us  think,  whose  little 
ones  are  still  around  ns,  of  our  boys, 
far  away,  walking  in  streets  we 
never  saw,  coming  and  sitting  down 
by  firesides  quite  strange  to  us  :  It 
is  humbling,  bat  it  is  trae,  that  we 
are  alienated  from  onr  children 
almost  as  the  inferior  animals  from 
their  young.  We  have  sense  to  see 
how  sad  the  fact  is,  and  we  strive 
against  it  in  divers  ways :  but  the 
fact  is  there. 

You  may  not  like  to  admit  it, 
'but  you  are  alienated  from  anyone 
when  you  are  able  to  go  out  and  in, 
and  get  through  your  day's  work, 
tie  being  absent  and  you  not  missing 
him.  That  is  alienation.  And  if 
so,  how  much  of  it  there  is  in  this 
world !  We  can  do  without  almost 
anybody.  We  have  all  frequently 
met  a  fellow-creature  who  could  do 
without  anybody  except  himself. 
The  affections  that  cling  to  parents 
and  home  die  in  some  folk,  very 
early.  And  there  are  those  who 
think  they  hare  got  rid  of  a  some- 
what discreditable  weakness,  when 
these  dwindle  and  go.  There  is 
something  touching  and  pleasant, 
when  we  find  men  remain  unsophis- 
ticated in  this  respect,  even  to  ad- 
vanced years :  and  even  when 
sufficiently  world-hardened  in  many 
respects.  Nothing  in  Brougham's 
life  gives  one  so  kindly  an  idea  of 
his  heart,  as  the  hct  that  when 
away  from  her,  in  London,  he  wrote 
a  letter  to  his  mother  every  day. 
Savage  reviewer,  demagogue  (not 
in  a  bad  sense).  Member  for  York- 
shire, counsel  in  a  host  of  great 
causes  and  some  historical  ones, 
swaying  by  pure  force  the  House 

of  Commons,  Lord  Chancellor,  still 
the  day  never  passed  on  which  the 
expected  letter  did  not  go,  did  not 
come.  Those  who  when  another 
Scotch  Chancellor  died,  malignantly 
vilified  him  before  he  was  cold  in  his 
grave,  did  not  (it  is  to  be  hoped) 
know  anything  of  Lord  Campbell 
unless  by  rumour :  did  not  (surely) 
know  how  through  his  early  strug- 
gles, and  his  first  years  at  the  Bar, 
and  on  till  he  was  burdened  with 
the  work  and  care  of  the  Attorney- 
General,  he  wrote  regular  and  long 
letters  to  the  good  old  minister  of 
Cupar,  setting  out  in  minute  detail 
how  it  was  faring  with  his  absent 
son.  The  rising  lawyer  had  risen 
no 'higher  when  his  feither  died: 
but  it  would  have  been  just  the 
same  (if  it  could  have  been)  when 
he  was  Chief  Justice.  And,  to  ge 
to  a  different  kind  of  man,  Dr. 
James  Hamilton  (whose  Life  is  worth 
reading),  amid  a  good  deal  that  was 
narrow  there  was  the  loveable  about 
the  letters  he  wrote,  till  he  died  a 
man  of  fifby-three,  to  My  dear 
Mamma.  One  feels  that  it  would 
have  seemed  like  a  breaking  away 
from  the  dear  old  ways  of  child- 
hood, to  have  varied  the  manner 
in  which  the  young  lad  at  College 
began  his  first  letters  home. 

Thinking  of  the  inevitable,  or 
all  but  inevitable,  aHenation  of 
parents  and  children,  one  is  not 
thinking  of  savage  brutes,  like  Mr. 
Thackeray's  Osborne,  nor  of  proud 
men  like  Mr.  Dickens'  Dombey, 
nor  of  heartless  monsters  like  the 
latter  author's  Sir  John  Chester, 
nor  of  utter  devils  like  Lord  Crabs : 
not  of  men  one  has  known,  who 
out  off  their  sons  with  a  shilling 
because  of  some  offence  to  inordinate 
vanity;  or  who  declared,  in  place 
of  aiding  a  child  in  distress,  that  he 
had  made  his  bed  and  must  lie  on 
it :  one  is  thinking  of  fieurly  decent 
folk,  not  bad,  01^  passably  self- 
ish, passably  heartless,  indifferent 
honest:  to  whom  out  of  sights  by 
the  necessity  of  the  oase,  is  out  of 


Of  AUenaiion. 


mind ;  and  who  might  just  as  well 
fight  against  the  law  of  gravitation 
as  against  the  law  of  their  nature. 
Think  of  change  in  social  place :  and 
the  change  in  the  relations  between 
people  which  it  makes.  When  one 
hfts  known  of  a  poor  cottager  and 
his  wife,  pinching  themselves  bine 
to  send  their  clever  boy  to  a  Scotch 
University  and  push  him  forward 
into  the  Chnrch,  it  was  sad  to  think 
of  the  estrangement  which  was  sure 
to  follow  the  success  of  all  their  hard 
toUs  and  schemes.  Even  when 
the  son  is  a  worthy  fellow,  what  a 
severance  that  dear-bought  educa- 
tion must  make :  and  when  he  gets 
a  living,  and  finds  himself  among  a 
new  Bet  of  associates,  and  perhaps 
makes  a  respectable  marriage,  the 
old  parents  will  seldom  see  him : 
and  it  will  be  with  a  vague,  blank 
sense  of  disappointment  when  they 
do.  Then  he  may  not  be  a  worthy 
fellow,  but  a  heartless  humbug: 
who  designedly  draws  off  from  the 
poor  old  pair  who  did  everything  for 
him,  and  bids  his  mother  not  to 
recognise  him  when  she  meets  him 
in  the  street  with  any  of  his  genteel 
friends.  I  hate  the  word  genteel : 
bat  it  is  the  right  word  here.  I 
have  known  such  an  animal,  coming 
home  for  a  few  days'  visit,  upbraid 
his  poor  old  mother  for  not  suflB- 
dently  polishing  his  boots  :  and 
sapercHiously  smile  at  her  ignorance 
of  his  meaning  when  he  bade  her 
take  away  his  clothes  and  brush 

I  don't  say  whose  fault  it  was, 
or  whether  it  was  anybody's  fault, 
bnt  it  always  grated  on  one  pain- 
fally  to  hear  of  old  John  McLiver 
working  for  his  eighteen  pence 
^  day,  an  old  labouring  man, 
when  his  son,  not  seen  by  him  for 
many  a  day  and  year,  was  known 
to  fiune  as  Sir  Ck>lm  Campbell  and 
thm  as  Lord  Clyde.  That  eminent 
man  was  unlucky  in  the  matter  of 
luunee.  To  the  name  of  Campbell 
he  had  no  more  right  than  I  have  : 
and  his  title  was  taken  from  the 

name  of  a  river  with  which  he  had 
nothing  earthly  to  do.  Perhaps 
it  wotdd  have  been  so  awkward 
for  the  Field-Marshal  to  have  walked 
into  the  old  labourer's  cottage, 
perhaps  father  and  son  would  have 
found  so  little  in  common,  that  it 
may  have  been  wise  in  the  peer, 
instead  of  going  to  see  his  father,  to 
send  a  little  money  now  and  then 
to  the  parish  minister  to  be  applied 
to  the  increase  of  his  comforts.  No 
doubt  Berkeley  Square,  and  the 
little  island  in  the  Hebrides,  were 
not  five  hundred,  but  five  hundred 
millions  of  miles  apart.  All  I  say  is, 
that  as  a  young  man,  it  pained  one's 
heart  to  know  that  utter  alienation. 
Never  was  a  huge  ram,  with  great 
curling  .  horns,  more  estranged 
from  the  sheep  it  was  taken  from  as 
a  trembling  little  lamb  six  years 
before,  amid  piteous  bleatings  on 
either  part,  than  (by  the  very  nature 
of  things)  was  F.M.  Lord  Clyde 
from  old  John  McLiver.  If  I  were 
such  an  old  John,  I  would  rather  my 
son  did  not  become  so  great.  For 
then,  in  my  failing  days,  he  would 
cheer  me  by  kind  words  and  looks 
(better  than  the  five  pound  note  sent 
to  the  minister  to  give  me  by  instal- 
ments) :  he  would  be  by  me  when  I 
breathe  my  last,  and  he  would  lay 
my  poor  weary  head  in  the  grave. 

This  special  estrangement  which 
comes  of  social  difference  exists, 
and  is  felt,  even  where  it  is  con- 
tinually and  heartily  fought  against. 
My  friend  Smith  tells  me  that  he 
well  knew  a  certain  man,  who, 
rising  from  the  humblest  origin, 
had  attained  great  wealth  and 
standing;  and  who,  by  and  by, 
made  a  great  marriage.  To  the 
marriage  feast  his  old  father  was 
brought,  who  had  been  a  labouring 
man  through  a  long  life,  till  his  rich 
son  made  him  comfortable  in  his 
last  years.  The  tie  of  filial  affec- 
tion was  unbroken:  and  the  rich 
man  (who  was  a  good  man)  was 
proud  and  not  ashamed  of  having 
made  his  own  way :  so  the  homely 


Of  AHenatioTi, 


old  working  man  was  presented 
amid  the  gathering  of  grand  folk. 
Bnt  one  felt  the  alienation  was 
there,  when  the  big  friends,  at 
home  with  the  son,  and  desiring  to 
be  most  kind  to  the  father,  yet 
gassed  npon  the  father  as  a  cnrioos 
old  phenomenon.  And  the  poor 
old  father  himself  was  not  at  his 
ease  with  his  changed  son. 

Turning  over  a  new  leaf  in  life, 
you  know  how  misty  the  old  life 
soon  grows.  One  forgets,  as  a 
reality,  the  former  way  of  life,  en- 
tering upon  the  new.  It  must  be 
a  strange  feeling,  I  think,  for  a 
man  to  find  himself  Primate  of 
the  Anglican  Church,  who  was 
born  and  brought  up  in  another 
communion.  Does  Archbishop  Tait 
cherish  any  distinct  recollection  of 
his  years  in  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land, which  he  indeed  left,  but  in 
which  his  fathers  lived  and  died  ? 
Does  he  not  find  it  awkward  to 
speak  (if  English  people  do  so 
speak)  of  the  Church  of  our  fathers  ? 
Does  he  remember,  seated  in  state 
on  the  throne  in  Canterbury  Cathe- 
dral, the  hideous  but  costly  St. 
Stephen's  at  Edinburgh  where  he 
used  to  go  as  boy  and  lad  ?  It  is 
curious  for  one  who  is  himself  a 
Scotchman  to  look  at  the  good  pre- 
late, and  listen  to  him ;  and  track 
out  the  old  thing  whence  he  rose : 
the  occasional  breaking  forth  of  the 
abandoned  Scotch  accent,  and  mani- 
fold further  traces  of  Scotch  train- 
ing in  his  youth.  A  Scot,  no  matter 
how  denationalised,  no  matter  how 
Anglified,  can  never  escape  detection 
by  a  fellow-countryman.  And  it 
is  very  amusing  when  one  finds  a 
Scot,  speaking  by  terrible  effort 
with  a  much  more  English  accent 
than  any  Englishman,  here  and 
there  betray  the  old  Adam,  by 
some  awfully  Doric  word.  Easily 
could  the  writer  give  wonderful 
examples  of  what  ho  describes. 
But  it  would  not  do.  And  it  shall 
not  be  done. 

My  friend  Smith  recently  related 
to  me  certain  facts,  indicating  how 
far  he  was  alienated  from  the  asso- 
ciations of  his  youth.  He  informed 
me  that  he  sat  next  his  old  ffw^et- 
heart  in  a  railway  carriage  for  a 
hundred  miles,  and  did  not  know 
her  at  all.  He  saw  a  fat  middle- 
aged  matron,  with  a  red  face :  but 
nothing  remained  there  of  the  airy 
sylph  of  dancing-school  days.  He 
did  not  find  out  who  she  was,  till 
some  one  told  him  at  the  journey's 
end.  Smith  was  no  more  than 
thirty-nine.  But  as  he  communi- 
cated this  information,  his  <visa^ 
was  rueful,  and  he  shook  his  head 
from  side  to  side  several  times  as 
though  there  were  something  in  it 
to  shake.  He  plainly  thought  that 
he  was  very  old. 

Most  readers  will  know  how  they 
have  forgot  old  school  companions, 
and  even  old  College  friends.  At 
school,  many  boys  sort  themselves 
in  pairs,  by  elective  affinity.  Two 
boys  are  chums :  always  together 
in  the  playground :  standing  shonK 
der  to  shoulder  against  the  world. 
At  least  it  used  to  be  so.  Do  we 
sometimes  wonder,  in  graver  years, 
if  an  old  friend  remembers  us :  if 
he  is  living  yet  ?  At  College,  one 
is  so  far  sophisticated,  that  there  is 
rarely  the  warm  attachment  of 
schoolboy  days.  Yet  there  were 
great  friends  too :  twenty,  five  and 
twenty  years  ago  !  But  young  men 
are  bad  letter- writers :  they  are 
set  in  life  far  apart:  letters  gra- 
dually cease  :  there  is  a  kind  thought 
now  and  then;  but  the  rift  has 
grown  a  river.  People  grow  worldly 
of  spirit,  too:  and  frightened.  If 
pne  had  the  chance  to  go  and  call 
for  an  old  friend,  unseen  for  a 
quarter  of  a  centuiy,  whose  home 
is  six  hundred  miles  off;  should 
not  one  hesitate  whether  to  go? 
One  does  not  know  what  reception 
one  might  meet.  A  sharp  fisuse  might 
lo>ok  at  you,  not  without  the  suapi- 
cion  that  you  designed  to  borrow 
money.    Which  you  would  not  get, 


Of  Alienation, 


It  is  a  toucliiiig  proof  bow  not 
many  years  may  sever  old  and  fast 
friends,  whicli  yon  may  find  in 
Keble's  Life :  in  the  record  how 
Newman  and  he  met  at  Keble's 
door,  and  neither  recognised  the 
other.  Newman  tells  as  he  did  not 
know  Keble,  and  Keble  asked  New- 
man who  be  was :  which  question 
he  answered  by  presenting  his  card. 
I  think  it  was  not  ten  years  since 
tbej  last  bad  met.  It  is  very  sad 
and  strange. 

There  are  many  more  things  one 
would  wish  to  say :  but  in  treating 
such  a  subject  there  is  a  temptation 
to  go  too  mncb  to  personal  expe- 
n'ence.  And  that  mnst  not  be. 
So  let  me  tear  np  some  notes  I  had 
made,  of  otber  things  to  be  said, 
and  behold  them  consume  away  in 
this  Utile  fire.  Let  it  be  said,  sum- 
mingup  matters,  that  looking  at  even 
a  hale  well-preserved  gray-headed 
old  individual,  the  thing  I  cannot 
help  thinking  of  bim  just  at  present 
Is  how  time  and  change  have  gra- 
dually alienated  bim  from  old 
things  and  old  associates:  self-con- 
centred him :  left  a  great  chasm 
all  around  bim :  isolated  him:  left 
no  one  really  near  him:  lefb  him 
alone.  K  his  wife  is  dead,  or  if  he 
were  never  married,  he  is  lonely  as 
though  in  tbe  midst  of  the  great 
Atlantic.     His  professional  friends 

and  his  club  friends  may  like  him 
well  enough :  but  who  is  fool  enough 
to  fancy  that  club  friends  and  pro- 
fessional friends  will  care  much 
when  he  dies  ?  There  is  in  truth 
a  gulf  between  you  and  such.  His 
children  are  remote,  even  though 
dwelling  in  the  same  house.  His 
own  youth,  and  early  manhood,  and 
the  main  toils  and  interests  of  his 
life,  have  receded  into  dim  dis- 
tance, and  look  spectral  there. 
Life  tends  to  converge  upon  him- 
self, and  his  own  physical  com- 
forts: and  it  is  very  wretched  to 
come  to  that.  Wherefore,  my 
friends,  let  us  keep  close  together! 
It  is  a  blessing  to  have  some  one  so 
near  you,  that  you  may  tell  (sure  of 
attentive  sympathy)  all  you  do,  all 
you  wish  and  fear,  all  you  think,  in 
so  far  as  words  suffice  to  tell  that 
And  from  such  a  one  you  will  hear 
the  same.  It  is  not  selfishness  cm* 
egotism  that  prompts  such  confi- 
dence :  it  is  the  desire  to  counter- 
work that  increasing  alienation, 
which  in  the  latter  years  tends  to 
estrange  us  from  otliers,  to  throw 
us  in  upon  ourselves,  to  make  us 
quite  alone.  Keep  as  near  as  you 
will,  there  is  still  an  inevitable  space 
between:  a  certain  distance  between 
you  and  your  best  friends  in  this 

A.  K.  H.  B. 

74  [Jamiary 


Great  Morning  strikes  the  earth  once  more, 

And  kindles  up  the  wave, 
As  many  and  manj  a  time  before, — 

And  am  I  still  a  slave? 
Gome !  let  me  date  my  years  anew ; 

This  day  is  virgin  white ; 
By  heav'n,  I  will  not  reindae 

The  rags  of  overnight ! 
I  was  a  king  by  birth,  and  who 

Is  rebel  to  my  right? 
None  but  myself,  myself  alone : 
Gonqner  myself,  I  take  my  throne ! 

10.  To  plan  a  wise  life  little  pains  doth  ask: 

To  live  one  wise  day,  troublesome  the  task. 

— Yet  why  so  hard  ?     What  is  it  thwarts  me  still  ? 

A  tainted  memory,  a  divided  will, 

A  weak  and  wavering  faith,  which,  for  mere  shows 

And  shams  of  things,  forsakes  the  truth  it  knows. 

II.        Think  you  that  words  can  save?  that  even  thought, 
Knowledge,  or  theoretic  &Ai\  does  aught  ? 
Truth  into  character  by  act  is  wrought. 
Your  life,  the  life  that  you  have  lived,  not  shamm*d. 
Is  you ;  in  that  alone  you're  saved  or  damn'd. 

12.  Glory  of  life — deep  tenderness, — 

Enigma  of  the  human  soul ! 
Set  in  this  wondrous  world  whose  dress 
Is  beauty,  whilst  the  heav'n  doth  roll 
Its  myriad  suns  around ;  where  love 

Sports  in  the  constant  shade  of  death,  ^ 

Fond  memory  sighs,  hope  looks  above, 
And  sorrow  clings  to  faith; — 
life,  all  made  up  of  hints  and  moods  and  fine  transitions, 
Great  secrets  murmur'd  low,  pure  joys  in  fleeting  visions ! 

1873]  Bramhleherries,  75 

13.  Almighty  Lord,  if  day  by  day 

From  Thee  I  further  move  away, 

0  let  me  die  to-night,  I  pray! 

Yet  no:  this  pray'r  is  idle  breath. 

1  understand  not  life  or  death. 
Nor  how  man's  course  continueth. 

Swept  in  a  wide  and  trackless  curve, 
Tho'  seeming  more  and  more  to  swerve^ 
An  orbit  it  may  still  preserve. 

I  will  not  seek  to  live  or  die ; 

Do  as  Thou  wilt,  1*11  ask  not  why. 

Keep  hold  of  me — content  am  I. 

0  Father !  grant  that  day  by  day 
My  soul  to  Thee  may  tend  alway. 
Becall  it  quickly  when  astray. 

1  hear  Thee :  hear  me  when  I  pray ! 




THE  third  Lord  Shaltesbnrj  is 
one  of  the  manj  writers  who 
enjoy  a  kind  of  suspended  vitality. 
His  volumes  are  allowed  to  slumber 
peacefully  on  the  shelves  of  dusty 
libraries  till  some  curious  student  of 
English  literature  takes  them  down 
for  a  cursory  perusal.  Though  gene- 
rally mentioned  respectfully,  he  has 
been  dragged  deeper  into  oblivion 
by  two  or  three  heavy  weights. 
Besides  certain  intrinsic  faults  of 
style  to  be  presently  noticed,  he  has 
been  partly  injured  by  the  evil  re- 
putation which  he  shares  with  the 
English  Deists.  Their  orthodox 
opponents  succeeded  in'iufllcting 
upon  those  writers  a  fate  worse 
than  refutation.  The  Deists  were 
not  only  pilloried  for  their  hetero- 
doxy, but  indelibly  branded  with 
the  fatal  inscription  *  dullness.'  The 
charge,  to  say  the  truth,  was  not 
ill-deserved ;  and  though  Shaftes- 
bury is  in  many  respects  a  writer  of 
a  higher  order  than  Toland,  Tindal, 
or  OoUins,  he  cannot  be  acquitted 
of  that  most  heinous  of  literary  of- 
fences. Attempts,  however,  have 
lately  been  made  to  resuscitate  him. 
His  works  have  recently  been  re- 
published in  England,  and  a  vigo- 
rous German  author,  Dr.  Spicker, 
has  appealed  against  the  verdict 
which  would  consign  him  finally  to 
the  worms  and  the  moths.  To  an 
English  student  there  is  something 
rather  surprising,  and  not  a  little 
flattering,  in  this  German  enthu- 
siasm. We  are  astonished  to  see 
how  much  can  be  elicited  by  dex- 
terous hands  from  these  almost  for- 
gotten volumes.  A  countryman  of 
Elant  and  Hegel,  and  one,  too, 
familiar  with  the  intricacies  of  that 
portentous  philosophical  literature 
which  Englishmen,  even  whilst  they 
sneer,  regard  for  the  most  part  with 
mysterious  awe,  can  still  discover 
lessons  worth  studying  in  a  second- 
rate  English  author  of  Queen  Anne*s 

time.  To  understand  him  properly, 
it  is  necessary,  in  Dr.  Spicker's 
judgment  (so,  at  loast,  we  may  infer 
from  the  form  of  his  book),  to  cast 
a  preliminary  glance  over  the  his- 
tory of  religion  and  philosophy,  to 
study  the  views  of  Paul  and  Aqui- 
nas,  and  Kant  and  Spinoza,  and 
Schleiermacher  and  Strauss,  and  to 
plunge  into  speculations  about  the 
soul,  about  being  and  not-being, 
and  the  proofs  of  the  existence  of 
God  and  a  future  life.  When  thus 
duly  prepared,  we  may  form  an 
estimate  of  Shaftesbury's  writings, 
and  then  we  may  draw  certain  con- 
elusions  as  to  the  nature  of  the  He- 
brew genius,  the  true  use  of  the 
Bible,  the  difference  between  the 
ideal  and  the  historical  Christ,  the 
religious  problems  of  tho  future, 
and  the  Archimedean  point  of  philo- 
sophy.  With  Dr.  Spicker's  reflec- 
tions upon  these  deep  topics  we 
need  at  present  have  no  concern. 
We  may,  perhaps,  feel  a  certain 
giddiness  when  we  see  so  many  re- 
flections evolved  from  so  compara- 
tively trifling  a  source.  We  re- 
semble the  fisherman  in  the  Arabian 
Nights ;  we  have  been  keeping  our 
genie  locked  up  between  his  smoke- 
dried  covers ;  and  behold  !  at  the 
touch  of  this  magician's  hand,  he 
rises  in  a  vast  cloud  of  philosophy 
till  his  head  reaches  tho  skies  and 
his  shadow  covers  the  earth.  Would 
not  Shaftesbury,  we  are  apt  to  ask, 
have  been  rather  surprised  had  he 
known  what  boundless  potentiali- 
ties of  speculation  were  germinating 
in  his  pages  ?  May  not  his  German 
commentator,  indeed,  be  slily  laugh- 
ing at  us  in  his  sleeve,  and  making 
of  poor  Shaftesbury  a  mere  stalking- 
horse  under  whose  cover  to  bring 
down  game  whose  very  existence 
was  unsuspected  by  his  author  ?  In 
fact,  we  think  that  on  some  occa- 
sions Dr.  Spicker  has  confused  a 
little  the  treasures  which  ho  found 


Shafiesbury^s  '  Chdracteristics.* 


with  those  which  he  hronghfc.  He 
has  given  additional  fullness  of 
meaning  to  Shaftesbury's  vagne 
hints  and  inconclnsive  snatches  at 
tiH>aght;  and  though  he  may  be 
personaUy  conscions  of  the  differ- 
ence between  the  germ  and  the  fnll 
development,  his  readers  may  find 
it  difficalt  to  detect  the  real  Shaftes- 
hniy  thos  overlaid  with  modem 
theory.  Yet  Dr.  Spicker  brings 
high  authorities  for  attributing  some 
greater  value  to  Shaftesbury  than 
we  generally  allow.  Hettner,  for 
example,  calls  him  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant phenomena  of  the  eighteenth 
centniy.  Not  only  the  English,  he 
says,  but  all  the  greatest  minds  of 
the  period — Leibnitz,  Voltaire,  Di- 
derot, Lessing,  Mendelssohn,  Wie- 
bmd,  and  Herder — drew  the  richest 
nourishment  from  his  pages;  and 
he  extends  to  all  his  writings  Her- 
der's enthusiastic  description  of  The 
MoraUgU  Bs  a  dialogue  almost 
worthy  of  Grecian  antiquity  in 
fcHin,  and  &r  superior  to  it  in  con- 
tents. Have  we,  indeed,  been  en- 
tertidning  an  angel  unawares  ?  Dr. 
Spicker,  of  course,  quotes  the  old 
example  of  Shakespeare,  and  once 
more  assures  us  that  we  never  re- 
cognised the  value  of  our  national 
poet  until  his  significance  was  fully 
revealed  to  us  by  German  critics. 
There  is,  however,  a  marked  differ- 
ence between  the  cases.  Shake- 
speare, though  our  German  friends 
may  choose  to  forget  it,  was  the 
object  of  our  national  adoration 
long  before  he  became  the  idol  of 
the  whole  world.  Our  enthusiasm 
was  almost  as  unqualified  in  the 
days  of  Garrick  and  Johnson  as 
now,  and  Pope  reveals  what  was  the 
popular  creed  even  in  his  day,  when 
he  speaks  of 
Bhakfispeare,  whom  you  and  every  play- 

knue  bill 
Stjle  the  diyiae,  the  matchless,  what  you 

The  Germans  did  not  originate  our 
&ith ;  they  enabled  us,  at  most,  to 

give  a  reason  for  it.  But  if  Shaftes- 
bury is  to  be  raised  to  a  lofty  place 
in  our  Walhalla,  the  enthusiasm 
has  to  be  created  as  well  as  ex- 
plained. In  such  questions  the  vox 
populi  is  very  nearly  infallible. 
When  critics  declare  that  an  author 
does  not  deserve  the  neglect  which 
he  receives,  the  admission  of  the 
fact  is  generally  more  significant 
than  the  protest.  When,  as  some- 
times happens,  we  find  a  man  being 
still  refuted  a  century  after  his 
death,  we  may  be  pretty  sure  that 
he  said  something  worth  notice; 
and,  inversely;  when  we  find  that 
nobody  cares  to  refute  him,  it  is 
tolerably  safe  to  assume  that  he  had 
no  genuine  vitality. 

In  considering,  however,  the 
value  of  this  appeal  against  the  ver- 
dict of  posterity,  we  must  admit 
that  there  are  certain  reasons,  be- 
sides his  intrinsic  want  of  merit, 
which  may  account  in  some  mea- 
sure for  his  neglect.  They  are  rea- 
sons, too,  which  are  more  likely  to 
repel  a  native  than  a  foreign  reader. 
The  feeling  of  annoyance  which  ge- 
nei*ally  causes  a  student  to  put  down 
the  vharcLGteristics  with  a  certain 
impatience  is  more  or  less  due  to 
defects,  which  would  be  less  percep- 
tible to  a  German,  especially  to  a 
German  endowed  with  the  natural 
robustness  of  literary  appetite. 
Shaftesbury  suffered  under  two  de- 
lusions, which  are  unfortunately 
very  common  amongst  authors.  He 
believed  himself  to  possess  a  sense 
of  humour  and  a  specially  fine 
critical  taste.  Whenever  he  tries 
to  be  facetious  he  is  intolerable; 
he  reminds  one  of  that  painful  joco- 
sity which  is  sometimes  assumed  by 
a  grave  professor,  who  fancies,  with 
perfect  truth,  that  his  audience  is 
inclined  to  yawn,  and  argues,  in 
most  unfortunate  conflict  with  the 
truth,  that  such  heavy  gambols  as 
he  can  manage  will  rouse  them  to  the 
smiling  point.  The  result  is  gene- 
rally depressing.     Yet  Shaftesbury 


Shafteshunfa  *  Oharaderistics.^ 


ifi  less  annojing  when  he  is  writhing 
his  grave  face  into  a  contorted 
grimace  than  when  the  muse,  whom 
he  is  in  the  habit  of  invoking,  per- 
mits him  to  get  upon  stilts.  His 
rhapsodies  then  are  truly  dismal, 
though  they  are  probably  improved 
when  they  are  translated  into  Ger- 
man. One  awkward  peculiarity 
must  disappear  in  the  process.  His 
prose,  at  excited  moments,  becomes 
a  kind  of  breccia  of  blank  verse. 
Bishop  Berkeley  ridicules  him  by 
printing  a  fragment  of  the  Soliloquy 
in  this  form ;  and  by  leaving  out  a 
word  or  two  at  intervals  it  does,  in 
foct,  very  fairly  represent  the  metre 
which  did  duty  for  blank  verse  in 
the  reign  of  Dryden  and  Pope. 
Here,  for  example,  is  a  fragment 
taken  pretty  much  at  random  &om 
The  Moralists — *  Or  shall  we  mind 
the  poets  when  they  sing  thy  tra- 
gedy, Prometheus,  who  with  thy 
stoVn  celestial  fire,  mixed  with  vile 
clay,  didst  mock  heaven's  counten- 
ance, and  in  abusive  likeness  of  the 
immortals  madest  the  compound 
man,  that  wretched  mortal,  ill  to 
himself  and  cause  of  ill  to  all?' 
No  English  critic  can  witness  his 
native  language  tortured  into  this 
hideous  parody  of  verse  without 
disgust.  Shaftesbury's  classicism 
too  often  reminds  us  of  the  contem- 
porary statues  in  which  Greorge  I. 
and  his  like  appear  masquerading 
in  the  costumes  of  Koman  empe- 
rors. His  English  prose  is  to  the 
magnificent  roll  and  varied  ca- 
dences of  Jeremy  Taylor  or  Milton 
or  Sir  Thomas  Browne  what  Con- 
greve's  versification  in  the  Ifowm- 
ing  Bride  is  to  the  exquisite  melody 
of  Massinger,  Fletcher,  or  Shake- 
speare. No  philosophising  can  per- 
suade  us  out  of  our  ears,  and 
Shaftesbury's  mouthing  is  simply 
detestable.  The  phenomenon  is  the 
more  curious  when  we  remember 
that  he  prided  himself  on  his  ex- 
quisite taste,  and  was  a  contempo- 
rary of  Swift  and  Addison.  But 
the  defect  goes  much  deeper  than 

is  indicated  by  these  occasionai 
lapses  into  a  kind  of  disjointed  amb- 
ling. Herder,  as  we  have  seen, 
admires  his  Platonic  Dialogues  :  wo 
prefer  the  judgment  of  Mackintosh^ 
a  favourable  critic,  who  admits 
his  performance  to  be  '  heavy  and 
languid,'  and  we  may  add  that  the 
excuse  made  for  him  on  the  gronnd. 
that  modem  manners  are  unsuitable 
to  this  form  of  composition  must  be 
balanced  by  the  recollection  that, 
in  spite  of  these  difficulties,  Berkeley 
was  almost  at  the  same  time  com- 
posing  dialogues  which  are  amongst 
the  most  perfect  modem  examples 
of  the  style.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  two,  from  a  purely  artis- 
tic point  of  view,  is  as  great  in  all 
other  respects  as  is  the  difference 
between  Shaftesbury's  lumbering 
phraseology  and  Berkeley's  ad- 
mirably lucid  English.  Shaftes- 
bury's desire  to  affect  a  certain  gen- 
tlemanlike  levity,  and  to  avoid  a 
pedantic  adherence  to  system,  makes 
him  a  singularly  difficult  writer  to 
follow.  He  is  never  content  vidth 
expressing  his  meaning  plainly  and 
directly.  It  must  be  introduced  to 
us  with  all  manner  of  affected  airs 
and  graces ;  the  different  parts  of 
his  argument,  instead  of  being  fitted 
into  a  logical  framework,  must  be 
separated  by  discursive  remarks 
upon  things  in  general ;  they  mast 
be  made  accepte.ble  by  a  plentiful 
effusion  of  rhetoric ;  we  must  be 
amused  by  digressions  and  covert 
allusions,  and  be  seduced  into  our 
conclusions  by  ingeniously  contrived 
and  roundabout  methods  of  ap- 
proaching the  subject.  A  skil;^ 
writer  of  a  dialogue  conceals  his 
plan,  but  never  forgets  it ;  and  if  it 
be  stripped  of  the  external  form, 
we  find  beneath  a  sinewy  and  well- 
compacted  system  of  reasoning. 
But  Shaftesbury  introduces  real 
confusion  by  way  of  effectually  con- 
cealing his  purpose ;  and  when  wo 
get  rid  of  the  tiresome  personages 
who  thrust  their  eloquence  upon  us, 
we  discover  an  argument  torn  to 


Shaftesbury* 8  *  OhafcLcieristics.' 


shreds  and  patches,  and  seeding  en- 
tire  rearrangement  before  we  can 
eatcb  his  drift.  Dr.  Spicker,  who 
does  not  speak  of  these  defects,  has 
applied  the  proper  remedy  by  re- 
ducing Shaflesbnry's  scattered  nt- 
teranoes  nnder  logical  heads,  and 
brings  out  a  £Eir  more  definite  and 
coherent  meaning  than  would  be 
discoTered  by  any  but  a  very  atten- 
tive reader.  Shaftesbury,  in  short, 
is  deficient  in  the  cardinal  virtues 
of  clearness  and  order ;  and  the 
consequence  is  that,  working  upon 
abstrnse  topics,  he  tries  the  patience 
of  his  readers  beyond  all  ordinary 
bearing.  Perhaps  this  is  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  the  neglect  which 
has  overtaken  him,  for  the  writers 
are  few  and  fortunate  who  have 
succeeded  in  reaching  posterity 
without  the  oliarm  of  a  beaatiful 
style.  Are  we  further  justified  in 
assaming,  on  the  strength  of  the 
common  maxim,  that  the  style  in- 
dicates the  man,  and  throwing  him 
aside  without  further  notice,  or  is 
there  really  some  solid  value  in  a 
writer  who  undoubtedly  exercised  a 
powerful  influence  upon  English 
thought,  and,  as  we  see,  has  found 
Ench  wide  acceptance  in  foreign 
conntries  ? 

The  best  mode  of  answering  that 
qnestion  would  probably  be  to 
eiamine  Shaftesbury^s  writings  in 
rather  closer  connection  with  his 
historical  position  in  English  litera- 
ture than  has  been  done  by  Dr. 
Spicker.  Without  enquiring  what 
sermons  may  be  preached  from  the 
texts  which  he  supplies,  we  may 
Vik  what  the  real  man  actually 
thonght,  and  how  he  came  to  think 
it.  Iq  regard  to  the  first  question 
we  ha?e  at  least  ample  materials. 
Shaftesbury,  in  spite  of  his  desul- 
tory mode  of  exposition,  had  a 
distinct  theory  about  the  universe, 
and  has  managed  to  expound  it 
sufficiently,  though  circuitously,  in 
the  Charaderistics. 

That  book  is  a  collection  of  es- 

nys  published  within  the  few  years 

you  VII. — Ko.  ixxvn.  iiiw  sbriis. 

preceding  his  death.  The  -first  of 
these,  the  Letter  on  EnthusioBm, 
gives  Shaftesbury's  view  of  the  re- 
ligious movements  of  his  day.  The 
doctrine  which  it  contains,  with 
some  of  its  applications  to  moral 
philosophy  and  to  literary  criticism 
(the  connection,  ak  will  presently 
appear,  is  characteristic),  is  ex- 
pounded in  the  essay  called  Sensus 
Communis,  and  in  the  Soliloquy ^  or 
Advice  to  an  Author,  The  essay  on 
Virtue,  of  which  an  izAperfect  copy 
had  been  published  by  Toland, 
is  the  most  systematic  statement 
of  his  views  on  morality ;  the  Mo- 
ralists,  a  Rliapsodi/,  is  a  kind  of 
appendix  to  it,  with  an  amplifi- 
cation of  some  of  his  conclusions. 
The  Miscellaneous  Bejlections  form 
a  running  commentary  on  all  the 
preceding  essavs;  and  the  Choice 
of  Hercules,  which  completes  the 
collection,  is  an  s^sthetic  disserta- 
tion, which  may  be  compared  to 
Lessing's  Laocoon.  The  coincidence 
in  thought  is  exhibited  by  Dr. 
Spicker,  and  De  Quincey  has  pre- 
faced his  translatio9  of  Lessing's 
essay  by  a  parallel  between  the  two 
writers.  As  we  shall  not  again 
refer  to  this  subject,  it  will  be 
enough  to  say  that  Shaftesbury 
deserves  credit  for  anticipating  the 
views  of  his  more  distinguished  suc- 
cessor, though  he  has  little  to  say 
which  is  worth  the  attention  of  any 
modem  reader. 

The  remainder  of  his  writings 
all  turn  more  or  less  upon  the 
great  question  of  the  theory  of 
morals  and  their  relation  to  reli* 
gion,  and  it  is  as  the  reprcsenta- 
tive  of  a  particular  theory  of  moral 
philosophy  that  Shaftesbury  is. 
chiefly  remembered  in  England. 
His  fame,  even  in  that  province  of 
speculation,  has  become  rather - 
dim.  Professor  Bain,  in  his  recent 
Handbook  of  Moral  Philosophy^ 
exiles  him  to  a  humble  footnote; 
yet  he  exerted  a  very  powerful 
influence  upon  Butler,  Hutcheson^ 
and  other  English  moralists ;  and 


Shafteshwry'g '  OharadBristics' 


for  thai,  if  for  no  other  reason^ 
his  yievirs  deserve  some  attention. 
They  will  be  best  expounded  by 
starbing  from  the  consideration  of 
the  iaflaences  which  chiefly  contri- 
bated  to  his  intellectual  develop- 

Shaftesbury,  it  need   hardly  be 
said,  was  by  birth  and  education  a 
fitting  representative  of  the  Whig 
aristocracy  iu  its  palmiest  period. 
The  grandson   of   Achitophel,  and 
brought  up  under  the  influence  of 
Locke,  he  imbibed  from  his  cradle 
the  prejudices  of  the  party  which 
triumphed    in    the    Revolution  of 
1688.     Daring    his    political    life, 
though  short    and  interrupted  by 
ill- health,  he  was  a  supporter  of  the 
Revolution   principles,    and  if   he 
diverged  from  his  party  he  professed 
to  diverge  from  them  W  adhering 
more  consistently  to  their  essential 
doctrines.     He  accepted  the  Whig 
shibboleth  of  those  days;  he  was 
in  favour  of  short  parliaments,  op- 
posed to  standing  armies,  and  ready 
to  exclude  all  pensioners  from  seats 
in  the  House  of  Commons.     Above 
all  he  Hhared  the  Whig  antipathy  to 
the  High  Church  principles  of  the 
day.  The  whole  party  from  Atterbury 
to  Sacheverell  was  utterly  hateful  to 
him.     The  Church  of  England  had 
been  deprived  by  the  Revolution  of 
the  power  of  persecution,  but  it  still 
regained  ezdusire  privileges.    Dis- 
senters though  not  liable  to  punish- 
ment, were  not  admitted  to  full 
citizenship.       Sound    Churchmen, 
though  compelled  to  accept  tolera- 
tion, clung  all  the  more  anxiously 
to  the  remnants  of  their  old  supre- 
macy.    To  all  Ruoh  claims  Shaftes- 
bury was  radically  opposed.     He 
vfBA    not  indeed,    as  without    an 
Anachronism    he  could    not    have 
been,  opposed  to  a  State  Church. 
On  the  contrary,  he  regarded  it  as 
a  valuable  institution,  but  valuable 
not,  as  justifying  the  pretensions  of 
priests;  but  a^  tying  their  hands. 
He  held  substantially  the  opinion 
which  is  oominon  amongst  a  very 

large  body  of  Jaymon  at  the  present 
day.  A  Church,  in  strict  sabordi« 
nation  to  the  power  of  the  laity,  is 
an  admirable  machinery  for  keeping 
priestly  vagaries  within  bounds. 
With  a  contemptuous  irony  he 
professes  (Mis,  V.  §  3)  his  *  steady 
orthodoxy,  resignation,  and  entire 
submission  to  the  truly  Christian 
and  Catholic  doctrines  of  pur  holy 
Church,  as  by  law  established.*  He 
held  in  the  popular  phrase  that  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles  were  articles  of 
peace ;  that  is  to  say,  that  they  were 
useful  to  make  controversialists 
hold  their  tongues,  though  it  woald 
be  quite  another  thing  if  one  were 
asked  to  believe  them.  For  their 
own  sakes,  he  loved  Dissenters  as 
little  as  Churchmen,  and  despised 
them  more ;  his  ideal  was  sn  era  of 
general  indifference,  in  which  the 
ignorant  might  be  provided  with 
dogmas  for  their  amusement,  and 
wise  men  smile  at  them  in  secret. 
The  doctrines  of  all  theologians,  in 
fact,  were  inflnitely  contemptible  in 
the  eyes  of  cultivated  persons ;  bat 
the  attempt  to  get  rid  of  them 
would  cause  a  great  deal  of  useless 
disturbance.  The  best  plan  was  to 
keep  the  old  institution  in  peace 
and  quiet,  and  to  allow  it  to  die  as 
quietly  as  might  be. 

In  all  this  there  was  nothing 
peculiar  to  Shaftesbury,  nor  even 
to  Shaftesbury's  era.  So  far  he 
might  have  been  an  ordinary  repre- 
sentative  of  the  great  Revolution 
families,  who,  when  their  position 
was  once  secure,  were  content  with 
keeping  things  tolerably  quiet  so 
long  as  they  could  divide  plsci^s 
and  profit.  He  might  have  drunk 
to  the  glorious  and  immortal 
memory  of  our  deliverer,  and  have 
become  a  candidate  for  office  under 
Oodolphin  or  Harley.  Circum- 
stances, however,  led  to  his  imbib- 
ing doctrines  of  a  less  commonplace 
character.  He  remsined  a  member 
of  the  English  aristocraoy-r-at  a 
time,  it  must  be  added,  when  the 
Bngliah  anatooraey  not  only  go. 


Shaftesbury^a  * Charaeterlstics.* 


vented  the  oauntry,  bat  was  qoali* 
fied  to  gOTem  bj  a  more  liberal 
spirit  than  that  which  animated  the 
class  immediately  below  it.  But  in 
him  the  English  aristocrat  was 
covered  hj  a  polish  derived  from  a 
peculiar  fining.  At  an  early  age 
he  had  been  sent  to  Winchester. 
The  proverbial  generosity  and  high 
spirit  of  an  English  pnblic  school  ex- 
hibited itself  by  making  the  place 
too  hot  to  hold  him,  as  some  retri- 
botion  for  the  sins  of  his  grand- 
father. Perhaps  he  had  to  learn 
the  meaning  of  '  tnnding.'  He  had 
already  acquired  a  familiarity  with 
tJje  classical  languages  by  the  same 
method  as  Montagne,  nnder  the 
guidance  of  a  learned  lady,  a  Mrs. 
Birch,  and  was  able  to  enjoy  read- 
ing Greek  and  Latin  literature  in- 
stead of  having  small  doses  of 
grammar  pressed  upon  him  by 
scholastic  drillmasters.  At  a  later 
period  he  made  one  of  those  con- 
tinental tours  from  which  yonng 
men  of  promise  and  position  must 
sometimes  have  derived  a  training 
Ttttiier  different  from  that  which 
ialU  to  the  lot  of  the  modem  tourist. 
In  Italy  he  learnt  to  have  a  ta^te, 
and  his  writings  are  coloured,  and 
sometimes  to  an  unpleasant  degree, 
by  the  peculiar  phraseology  of  the  ar- 
tistic connoissenr.  In  Holland  he 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  lead- 
era  of  European  criticism,  Bayle 
and  Leclerc.  He  learnt  that  Eng- 
land was  not  the  whole  world,  and 
discovered  that  the  orthodox  dogmas 
did  not  entirely  satisfy  the  demands 
of  the  enquiring  minds  of  the  time. 
He  acquired,  in  shorty  certain  cos- 
mopolitan tendencies.  'Our  best 
policy  and  breeding,'  he  complains 
(if«.  HI.  ch.  i.),  *  is,  it  seems,  to 
look  abroad  as  little  as  possible; 
contract  our  views  within  the  nar- 
rowest possible  compass,  and  despise 
all  knowledge, leaming,and manners 
which  are  not  of  home  growth.' 
Had  the  term  been  popularised  in 
his  day,  he  would  have,  complained 
o£  flia.  Philistine^  tendencies  of  hia. 

countrymen,  and  insisted  upon  that 
unfortunate  provincialism  which  is 
characteristic  even  of  our  best  wri- 
ters. He  has  little  hopes,  he  tells  us 
(Mis.  III.  ch.  i.),  of  being  relished 
by  any  of  his  countrymen,  except* 
'  those  who  delight  in  the  open  and 
free  commerce  of  the  world,  and 
are  rejoiced  to  gather  views  and 
receive  light  from  every  quarter.' 
He  is  always  insisting  upon  the 
importance  of  cultivating  a  reGned 
taste,  as  .the  sole  guide  in  art  and 
philosophy.  *  To  philosophise  in 
a  just  signification  is  but  to  carry 
good  breeding  a  step  higher '  (ib.). 
'  The  taste  of  beauty  and  the  relish 
of  what  is  decent,  just  and  amiable, 
perfects  the  character  of  the  gentle- 
man and  the  philosopher.'  The 
person  who  has  thoroughly  learnt 
this  lesson  is  called,  in  his  old- 
fashioned  dialect,  the  '  virtuoso  ; ' 
and  the  various  phrases  in  which 
he  expounds  his  doctrines  may  be 
translated  into  modern  language, 
by  saying  that  he  is  a  prophet  of 
culture,  a  believer  in  '  Geist,'  and 
a  constant  preacher  of  the  advan- 
tages of  sweetness  and  light.  In 
short,  Lord  Shaftesbury  was  the 
Matthew  Arnold  of  Queen  Anne's 
reign.  Mr.  Arnold,  indeed,  pos- 
sesses what  Shaftesbury  only  ima- 
gined himself  to  possess — an  ele-* 
gant  style;  and  the  modern  re- 
presentative of  the  school  would 
be  unworthy  of  his  predecessor  if 
he  had  not  profited  by  the  later 
triumphs  of  modem  thought.  Yet, 
making  allowance  for  the  difference 
of  their  surroundings,  the  analogy 
is  as  close  as  could  be  wished,  and 
may  serve  to  render  Shaftesbury's 
opinions  more  intelligible  to  modern 

Imagine,  then,  Mr.  Arnold  trans- 
planted backwards  for  a  century 
and  a  half.  In  what  way  would  he 
regard  the  contemporary  currents  of 
thought?  The  answer  will  give 
a  rough  approximation  to  Lord 
Shaftesbury's  views,  though,  of 
coiunie^  it-would,  be  un&ir  to  insist 

G  a 


Shaftesbury* u  *  CharacierUtics.' 


too  strongly  upon  the  resemblance, 
and  we  may,  without  any  help  ^m 
such  indirect  methods,  interrogate 
Shaftesbnry  himself. 

His  first  two  treatises  give  us  his 
view  of  contemporary  theologians. 
^he  Letter  concermng  Enthimaamyfza 
provoked  by  the  strange  perform- 
ances of  the  French  prophets,  who 
were  holding  revivals  and  working 
miracles  in  London  amidst  an  un- 
believing population.  The  old  spirit 
of  Puritanism  was  at  its  very  lowest 
ebb.  The  generation  of  Dissenters 
which  had  produced  Baxter  and 
Bunyan  had  passed  away;  that 
which  was  to  produce  Wesley  and 
Whitefield  was  still  in  its  cradles. 
Nothing  remained  but  a  grovelling 
superstition,  unlovely  in  its  mani- 
festations, and  ridiculous  to  the 
cultivated  intellect  of  the  time. 
Shaftesbury  speaks  of  their  per- 
formances as  a  Saturday  Reviewer 
might  speak  of  an  American  camp- 
meeting.  Their  supposed  miracles 
are  explained  by  the  natural  con- 
tagion of  an  excited  crowd  of 
fanatics.  '  No  wonder  if  the  blaze 
rises  of  a  sudden;  when  innu- 
merable eyes  glow  with  the  passion, 
and  heavmg  breasts  are  labouring 
with  inspiration;  when  not  the 
aspect  only,  but  the  very  breath 
and  exhalations  of  men  are  infec- 
tious, and  the  inspiring  disease  im- 
parts itself  by  immediate  transpira- 
tion.* {ETdhusiobsm^^  6,)  For  such 
a  disease  there  is  one  complete 
panacea.  Ridicule  is  the  proper 
remedy  for  &naticism.  Persecution 
would  fan  the  flame.  These  char- 
latans would  be  grateful  if  we 
would  only  be  so  obliging  as  to 
break  their  bones  for  l^em  'after 
their  (the  French)  country  fashion, 
blow  up  their  zeal,  and  stir  afresh 
the  coals  of  persecution.'  (lb,  §  3.) 
We  have  had  the  good  sense  instead 
of  burning  them  to  make  them  the 
subject  of  a  '  puppet-show  at  Bar- 
t'lemy  fair  *  (t5.)  ;  and  Shaftesbury 
ventures  to  suggest  that  if  the 
Jews  had  shown  tilieir  malice  seren* 

teen  centuries  before,  not  by  cruci- 
fixion, but  by  '  sucb  puppet-shows 
as  at  this  hour  the  Papists  are  act- 
ing* (tft.),  they  would  have  done 
much  more  harm  to  our  religion. 

The  evil  which  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  these  displays  was  that  delusion 
to  which  our  ancestors  gave  the 
name  of  enthusiasm.  In  appro- 
priating that  word  exclusively  to 
its  nobler  meaning,  we  have  lost 
something,  though  the  change  is  sig- 
nificant of  some  desirable  changes ; 
for,  in  truth,  enthusiasm,  as  Shaftes- 
bury defines  it,  is  an  ugly  pheno- 
menon. 'Inspiration,*  he  saya,  'is 
a  real  feeling  of  the  Divine  presence, 
and  enthusiasm  a  false  one '  {ih,  §  7), 
to  which  he  adds  significantly  that 
the  passions  aroused  are  much  alike 
in  the  two  cases.  To  mistake  our 
own  impulses  for  the  immediate 
dictates  of  our  Creator  is  indeed  a 
grievous  blunder,  and  when  the 
mistake  is  made  by  a  passionate 
and  ignorant  fanatic,  it  is  especially 
offensive  to  the  man  of  culture. 
Shaftesbury,  however,  is  careful  to 
point  out  that  enthusiasm  was  not 
confined  to  ignorant  Dissenters.  It 
supplied  also  the  leverage  by  which 
the  imposing  hierarchy  of  Rome 
forced  their  dominion  upon  an 
unenlightened  world.  Enthusiasm 
may  appeal  to  the  senses  as  well  as 
the  spirit.  With  the  marvellous 
skill  which  wise  men  have  admired, 
even  whilst  revolted  by  its  results, 
the  priests  of  that  august  and  vene- 
rable Church  succeeded  in  turning 
to  account  all  the  weaknesses  of 
mankind.  Instead  of  opposing  the 
torrent,  they  ingeniously  forced  it 
into  their  service.  To  provide  for 
enthusiasm  of  the  loftier  kind,  they 
allowed  *  their  mysticks  to  write 
and  teach  in  the  most  rapturous  and 
seraphic  strains.*  {Mis.  II.  ch.  2.) 
To  the  vulgar  they  appealed  by  tem- 
ples, statues,  paintings,  vestmenti^ 
and  all  the  gorgeous  pomp  of  ritual. 
Allowing  a  full  career  to  all  the 
thaumaturgical  juggleries  of  monks 
and  wandering  friars,  they  also  per- 


Sha/Ushuri^'B  ^  OharacterUtics.* 


mitted  '  ingenious '  writers '  to  call 
these  ?ronders  in  question '  in  a  civil 
manner.'  No  wonder,  he  exclaims, 
if  Rome,  the  seat  of  a  monarchy 
resting  on  foundations  laid  so  deep 
b  haman  nature,  appeals  to  this  day 
to  the  imagination  of  all  spectators, 
thoogh  some  are  charmed  into  a  de- 
sire for  reunion,  whilst  others  con- 
ceive a  deadly  hatred  for  all  priestly 

Sbaflesbury,  of  course,  belongs 
to  the  latter  category.  For  this,  as 
for  its  twin  form  of  enthusiasm,  he 
still  bad  recourse  to  the  remedy  of 
ridicaie.  He  maintained  as  a  general 
principle,  and  thereby  bitterly  of- 
fended many  solemn  theologians, 
that  raillery  was  the  test  of  truth. 
Tnith,  he  says,  ^  may  bear  all  lights ' 
{WU  afid  Humour f  Pt.  I.  §  i),  and 
one  of  the  principal  lights  is  cast  by 
ridicule.  He  compresses  into  this 
axiom  the  theory  practically  exem- 
piiiied  by  the  Deists  and  their  pupil, 
Voltaire,  and  he  gives  the  best  de- 
fence that  can  be  made.  Satire,  we 
know,  is  the  art  of  saying  every- 
tliing  in  a  country  where  it  is  for- 
bidden to  say  anything.  Ridicule 
i*  the  natural  retort  to  tyranny. 
^  Tis  the  persecuting  spirit  that  has 
raised  the  bantering  one.'  (16.  §  4.) 
The  doctrine  should,  perhaps,  be 
qo^fied.  When  men  are  sufiBciently 
in  earnest  to  fight  for  their  creeds, 
they  are  too  much  in  earnest  for 
laughter.  It  is  at  a  later  period, 
when  the  prestige  has  survived  the 
power,  when  priests  bluster  but 
cannot  bum,  when  heterodoxy  is 
stiil  wicked  but  no  longer  criminal, 
that  satire  may  fairly  come  into 
play  The  dogmas  whose  founda- 
tioDs  have  been  sapped  by  reason, 
^  are  still  balanced  in  unstable 
eqnilibrinm,  can  be  toppled  over  by 
the  shafts  of  ridicule.  Its  use  is 
not  possible  till  freedom  of  dis- 
cussion is  allowed,  and  not  be- 
coming when  free  discussion  has 
produced  its  natural  fruit  of  setting 
all  disputants  on  equal  terms.  Bidi- 
cole  clear*  the  airland  disperses 

the  miste  of  preconceived  prejudice. 
When  they  have  once  vanished,  the 
satirist  should  give  place  to  the 
calm  logician.  Shaftesbury,  thongh 
an  advocate  of  the  use  of  ridicule, 
was,  as  we  have  said,  very  unskil- 
ful in  its  application ;  nor  is  he  to 
be  reckoned  amongst  the  Deists  who 
made  an  unscrupulous  use  of  this 
rather  questionable  weapon.  He 
does  not  aim  at  justifying  scoffers, 
but  rather  desiderates  that  calm 
frame  of  mind  which  is  appropriate 
to  the  cultivated  critic.  In  his  own 
dialect,  he  is  in  favour  of  'good 
humour '  rather  than  of  a  mocking 
humour.  *  Grood  humour  is  not  only 
the  bestsecurity  against  enthusiasm,* 
he  tells  us, '  but  the  best  foundation 
of  piety  and  true  religion . '  (Enth ei- 
siasm,  §  3.)  Good  humour  is,  in  fact, 
the  disposition  natural  to  the  philo- 
sopher when  enthusiasm  has  been 
exorcised  from  religion.  Shaftes- 
bury's ideal,  as  we  shall  presently 
see,  is  a  placid  and  contented  atti- 
tude of  thought,  resting  on  a  pro- 
found conviction  that  everything  is 
for  the  best,  and  a  perception  of  the 
deep  underlying  harmonies  which 
pervade  the  world.  The  sour  fana- 
tic and  the  bigoted  priests  are  at 
the  opposite  poles  of  disturbance, 
whilst  he  dwells  in  the  temperate 
latitudes  of  serene  contemplation. 
He  shares  with  the  Deists,  and,  in- 
deed, with  all  the  ablest  thinkers  of 
his  time,  with  Locke  and  Clarke,  as 
well  as  with  Collins  and  Tindal,  the 
fundamental  dogma  of  the  ration- 
alists, the  necessity  of  freedom  of 
discussion ;  but  he  wishes  for  free- 
dom, not  to  enable  him  to  attack 
the  established  creeds,  but  to  adapt 
the  intellectual  atmosphere  to  a 
gradual  spread  of  philosophical 

This  tendency  of  Shaftesbury  dis- 
tinguishes him  from  the  ordinary 
Deist.  The  difference  of  his  temper 
is  indeed  so  marked  that  Mr.  Hunt 
{Religioua  Thought  m  England^  Vol. 
II.  pp.  342  seq.)  scruples  to  reckon 
him    amongst   them.      Mr.    Hunt 


Shc^iethmy's  *■  Gharaeteristies.* 


is,  it  seems  to  me^  uvaeoessarily 
anxioas  to  defend  tb&  Deists,  ia 
general  trom  the  charge  of  Deism. 
It  Qiatters  little  whether  Shaftesn 
bury  carod  to  veneer  his  ratiooalisai 
ivith  Christian  phraseology  or  not. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe  him 
to  have  bjen  consciously  a  Deist ; 
and  a  comparison  of  the  passages 
brought  together  by  Dr.  Spicker 
will,  I  think,  establish  the  charge,  if 
it  must  be  called  a  charge.  Nothing, 
however,  could  be  farther  from 
his  intention  than  to  adopt  an  atti* 
tude  of  unequivocal  hostility  to  that 
vague  body  of  amiable  doctrine 
which  was  then  maintaiaed  by  the 
latitudinarian  divines,  and  which, 
in  our  days,  is  reflected  in  what  is 
called  '  unsectarian  Christianity.' 
It  suited  his  purpose  very  well ;  and 
so  long  as  priests  were  well  nnder 
the  heel  of  the  secular  power,  why 
trouble  oneself  too  much  about  their 
harmles-)  crotchets  ?  At  one  place 
he  sets  himself  to  prove  three  points: 
first,  that  '  wit  and  humour  are  cor- 
roborative of  religion  and  promotive 
of  true  faith ; '  secondly,  that  they 
have  been  ui^ed  by  *the  holy  founders 
of  religion ; '  and  thirdly,  that  *  we 
have,  in  the  main,  a  witty  and  good 
humoured  religion.'  (Mis,  11.  ch. 
3. )  He  passes  with  suspicious  light- 
ness over  the  proof  of  the  last  head  ; 
bat  the  phrase,  ''in  the  main,'  is 
evidently  intended  to  exclude  a  vast 
body  of  doctrine  which  generally 
passed  for  orthodox,  but  which,  in 
his  opinion,  was  the  product  of 
splenetic  fanaticism.  So  long,  how- 
ever, as  religion  makes  no  unplea- 
sant demands  upon  him,  he  will 
not  quarrel  with  its  clauses.  He 
'speaks  with  contempt  of  the 
mockery  of  modem  miracles  and 
inspiration;'  he  regards  them  all 
as  *  mere  imposture  or  delusion ; ' 
on  the  miracles  of  past  ages  he 
resigns  his  judgment  to  his  supe- 
riors, and  on  all  occasions  *  submits 
m()st  willingly,  and  with  full  con- 
fi.lence  and  trust,  to  the  opinions 
by    law    established.'      (Mis.    II. 

chi  2.)  It  would  be  hard  lo 
speak  more  plainly.  A  miracle 
which  happened  1700  years  ago 
hurt  nobody;  but  any  pretence  to 
discovering  Divine  action  in  the^ 
modem  world  must  be  rejected 
with  contempt  as  so  much  im- 
posture. He  is  quite  ready  to  take 
off  his  hat  to  the  official  idols  of  the 
day ;  but  it  is  on  condition  of  their 
keeping  themselves  quiet,  and  work- 
ing no  more  miracles.  The  dogma 
that  miracles  have  ceased  Ls  the 
best  guard  against  modem  fanatics 
and  sectaries ;  and  our  belief  mast 
rest  not  upon  signs  and  wonders, 
but  on  the  recognition  of  uniform 
order  throughout  the  universe.  - 
With  such  views,  the  chief 
temptation  to  shock  the  sensibilitaes 
of  orthodox  writers  was  afforded  by 
the  Jews.  The  bare  mention  of 
that  barbarous  and  enthusiastic  race 
was  enough  to  startle  every  Dei^t, 
open  or  concealed,  out  of  his  pro* 
priety.  They  were  the  type  of 
everything  that  was  hateful  in  his 
eyes,  and  their  language  was  im- 
movably associated  with  the  most 
recent  outbreaks  of  enthusiasm. 
The  idol  of  the  Puritans  was  the 
bugbear  of  the  Deists.  Shaftesbury 
hated  them  with  the  hatred  of 
Voltaire.  When  writing  as  a 
literary  critic,  his  examples  of  sub- 
jects totally  unsuitable  for  poetic 
treatment  are  taken  from  Scripture 
history.  No  poet,  as  the  friend  of 
Bayle  naturally  thinks,  could  make 
Dnvid  interesting.  '  Such  are  some 
human  hearts  that  they  can  hardly 
find  the  least  sympathy  with  t-hat 
only  one  which  had  the  character 
of  iuing  after  the  pattern  of  the 
Almighty.'  (Advice  to  an  Auihor^ 
Pt.  III.  §  3.)  When  writing  as 
a  novelist,  again,  he  illustrates  the 
bad  influences  of  superstition  as 
opposed  to  genuine  religion  from 
the  same  fertile  source.  If  there  i-4 
anytuirig,  he  says,  in  a  system  of 
worship  '  which  teaches  men  treach- 
ery, ingratitude,  or  cruelty*  by 
Divine  warrant,  or  nnder  ooloar  and 


Shafteahwry's  *  Gharacterietics,* 


pretence  of  aaj  present  ov  fntare 
pood  to  mankind ;  if  there  be  any- 
thing which  teaches  how  to  per- 
secute their  friends  through  love ; 
or  to  torment  captives  of  war  in 
sport ;  or  to  offer  hnman  sacrifice, 
or  to  torment,  macerate,  or  mangle 
themselves,  in  a  religions  zeal,  be- 
fore their  God ;  or  to  commit  any 
sort  of  barbarity  or  bmtality,  as 
amiable  or  becoming,'  such  prac- 
tices, whether  sanctioned  by  custom 
or  religion,  mast  remain  *  horrid 
depravity.'  (Virtue,  Boqk  I.  Pt. 
11  §  3.)  A  deity,  he  presently 
adds,  who  is  furious  and  revenge- 
fal,  who  punishes  those  who  have 
not  sinned,  who  encourages  deceit 
and  treachery,  and  is  partial  to  a 
few,  will  generate  similar  vices 
among  his  worshippers.  (lb,  Pt. 
IV,  §  2.)  The  reference  to  the 
Jews  in  these  passages,  sufficiently 
plain  in  itself,  is  more  explicitly 
pointed  in  his  subsequent  writing^. 
The  remark  npon  human  sacrifices, 
for  example,  is  explained  by  refe- 
rence to  the  story  of  Abraham  and 
Isaac  (Mis.  II.  ch.  3),  and  the 
origin  of  enthusiasm  is  discovered 
in  priest-ridden  Egypt,  whence  it 
was  derived  by  the  servile  imitation 
of  the  Jews.  Shaftesbury  was  cer- 
tainly a  Theist ;  but  it  is  equally 
plain  that  he  was  not  a  worshipper 
of  Jehovah.  Whether  the  form  of 
belief  which  is  generated  by  purify- 
ing Christianity  of  its  Judaising  and 
Romanising  elements  may  &irly  be 
called  Deism,  is  a  question  of  no 
great  importance ;  whatever  its 
proper  name,  it  would  roughly 
describe  Shaftesbury's  religious 

Meanwhile,  Shaftesbury  was  anx- 
ious to  reconstruct  as  well  as  to  de- 
Btroy,  or  at  any  rate  to  save  from 
the  wrecks  of  the  old  creed  enough 
to  make  a  tolerable  refuge  for  the 
CQlta?aied  human  soul.  Suppose, 
he  says,  that  we  had  *  lived  in  Asia 
at  i^  time  when  the  Magi,  by  an 
egregious  imposture,  had  got  poa. 
Beeaioa  of  the  empire;'   imagine 

that  their  many  cheats  and  abuses 
had  made  them  justly  hateful ;  bat 
imagine  forther  that  they  had  en- 
deavoured to  recommend  themselves 
by  establishing  the  best  possible 
moral  maxims :  what  would  be  the 
right  course  to  pursue  ?  (  Wit  and 
Hummr,  Pt.  II.  §  i.)  Would  you 
try  to  destroy  both  the  Magi  and 
their  doctrines ;  to  repudiate  every 
moral  and  religious  principle,  every 
natural  and  social  affection,  and 
make  men,  as  much  as  possible, 
wolves  to  each  other?  That,  he 
says,  was  the  course  pursued  by 
Hobbes,  who,  both  in  politics  and 
religion,  went  on  the  principle  of 
'  magophony,'  '  or  indiscriminate 
slaughter  of  his  opponents.  The 
reaction  against  old  opinions  was 
carried  by  that  great  thinker, 
the  man  who  did  more  than  any 
other  to  stimulate  English  thonglit 
during  the  century  which  followed 
his  death,  to  an  extravagant  excess. 
Shaftesbury  had  been  profoundly 
influenced  by  Hobbes's  chief  oppo- 
nents, the  Cambridge  Platonists, 
and  even  wrote  a  preface  to  a  volume 
of  sermons  published  by  Whicbcot, 
one  of  their  number.  His  ambition 
was  to  confine  the  destructive 
agency  represented  by  Hobbes 
within  due  limits,  and  to  prese've 
what  was  good  in  the  old  creed 
whilst  sympathising  with  the  as- 
sault  upon  the  '  Mngi,'  who  had 
made  their  own  profit  out  of  the 
perversions  of  the  religions  instinct. 
But  how  was  this  desirable  object 
to  be  accomplished  ?  The  writers 
who  in  that  age  corresponded  to 
the  modem  Broad  Churchmen  af- 
fected a  kind  of  metaphysical  theo- 
logy* Clarke,  the  ablest  rationalist 
amongst  the  clergy,  formed  his  sys- 
tem from  the  fragments  of  Des 
Cartes,  Spinoza,  and  Leibnitz. 
Clarke  occupied  towards  them  the 
same  position  which  Dean  Mansel 
occupied  towards  recent  German 
metaphysicians.  He  hoped  to  soften 
down  their  philosophy  sufficiently 
to  press  it  into  the  service  of  Chris- 


Shafleslmry*s  '  CfiaraderintLCs,' 


tianitj.  His  chief  book  aims  at 
being  a  kind  of  theological  Euclid, 
starting  from  certain  primary  ax- 
ioms as  to  matter,  force,  and  causa- 
tion, and  proving  the  existence  and 
attributes  of  Ood  as  Euclid  proves 
the  relations  between  the  sides  and 
angles  of  a  triangle.  Should  Shaftes- 
bury associate  himself  with  writers 
of  this  class  P  His  cosmopolitan 
training  told  him  that  their  day 
was  already  past.  Then,  as  more 
recently  in  Germany,  metaphysi- 
cians had  erected  a  vast  tower  of 
Babel,  intending  to  scale  heaven 
from  earth.  Like  the  work  of  the 
ancient  labourers  on  the  plains  of 
Shinar,  their  ambitious  edifice  was 
all  falling  to  ruins,  and  its  sole 
result  had  been  to  create  a  jargon 
detestable  to  all  intelligent  men. 
Shaftesbury  uniformly  speaks  of 
metaphysics  with  a  bitter  contempt. 
The  study  represented  to  him  no- 
thing but  a  set  of  barren  formulas 
£tted  only  for  the  pedants  of  the 
schools.  .Their  doctrines  were,  in 
the  German  phrase,  a  mere  Hmi" 
geftpinnat — a  flimsy  cobweb  of  the 
brain.  The  philosophers  are  'a 
sort  of  moonblind  wits,  who,  though 
very  acute  and  able  in  their  way, 
may  be  said  to  renounce  daylight 
and  extinguish,  in  a  manner,  the 
bright  visible  outside  world,  by  al- 
lowing us  to  know  nothing  besides 
what  we  can  prove,  by  strict  and 
.formal  demonstration.'  (Mis,  IV. 
ch.  2.)  He  ridicules  the  philo- 
sophical speculations  about  'forma- 
tion of  ideas,  their  compositions, 
comparisons,  agreement  and  dis- 
agreement.' (Soliloquy,  Pt.  IV.  §  i.) 
Philosophy,  in  his  sense,  is  nothing 
but  the  study  of  happiness  (UoraU 
ists,  III.  ch.  3),  and  all  these  discus- 
sions as  to  substances,  entities,  and 
the  eternal  and  immutable  value  of 
things,  and  pre-established  harmo- 
nies, and  occasional  causes,  and 
primary  and  secondary  qualities, 
are  so  much  empty  sound.  'The 
most  ingenious  way  of  becoming 
fooh'sh,*  as  he  very  truly  says,  *  is 

by  a  system '  (Soliloquy,  Pt.  III. 
§  i) ;  and,  in  truth,  the  sys- 
tems then  existing  w«re  rapidly 
going  the  way  of  many  that  had 
preceded  and  of  many  that  were  to 
follow  them.  But  should  Shafles- 
bury  follow  the  thinkers  who  were 
preparing  their  downfall,  such  as 
his  own  preceptor  Locke,  or  en- 
deavour to  anticipate  Berkeley  and 
Hume?  From  any  such  attempt 
he  was  precluded  both  by  his  op- 
position to  purely  sceptical  specu- 
lation, and  by  a  want  of  metaphysi- 
cal acuteness.  The  first  is  shown 
by  his  condemnation  of  Locke,  and 
the  second  by  the  fact  that  whilst 
repudiating  the  metaphysical  theo- 
rists, he  really  takes  from  them  the 
central  support  of  his  own  doc- 

Thus  far  we  have  traced  Shaftes- 
bury by  his  antipathies.  Repre- 
senting the  objects  of  his  enmity 
by  modem  names,  we  might  com- 
pare him  to  a  modern  thinker  who 
should  be  opposed  to  Mr.  Mill's 
experiential  philosophy,  to  Dean 
Mansel's  adaptation  of  German  me- 
taphysics, to  Dr.  Newman's  Catho- 
licism, and  to  Mr.  Spnrgeon's  Pro- 
testantism ;  who  should  agree  with 
Bishop  Colenso*s  attacks  on  the 
letter  of  the  Bible,  but  think  them 
painfully  wanting  in  breadth  of 
view ;  and  who  should  have  been 
deeply  influenced  by  the  teaching 
of  Coleridge,  and  yet  have  cast  it 
ofi*  as  too  reactionary  in  spirit.  Sub- 
stitute for  those  names  Locke, 
Clarke,  Bossuet,  the  French  pro- 
phets, Collins  and  Cudworth,  and 
we  have  a  very  fair  repetition  of 
Shaftesbury's  position.  The  re- 
semblance between  the  state  of  opi- 
tion  then  and  now  is  probably  the 
cause  of  the  interest  still  attached 
by  Dr.  Spicker  to  Shaflesbury'a 

The  deluge  is  rising  higher  than 
of  old  ;  and  the  ark  in  which  later 
metaphysicians  promised  to  save  a 
select  few  shows  ominously  symp- 
toms   of    foundering    altogether. 


Shaftesbury's  ^  Charaeterig  tet.' 


Whilst  it  is  jet  time,  cannot  we 
pot  together  some  rafl  from  the 
floating  wreck,  which  may  in  time 
bring  ns  to  the  new  and  happier 
world  ? 

Shallesbaiy's  first  effort  was  to 
cast  ov^board  certain  Jonahs  in 
the  shape  of  dogmatic  divines.  To 
be  less  metaphorical,  he  endeavoured 
to  render  morality  independent  of 
the  old  theology.  He  opposes  new 
theories  to  the  theological  concep- 
tions of  the  universe,  of  human  na- 
ture, and  of  motives  to  virtue.  A 
belief  in  God  is  indeed  an  essential 
part  of  his  system;  but  the  God 
whom  He  worships  is  hardly  the 
God  of  Christians,  any  more  than 
Ue  is  the  God  of  the  Jews.  The  be- 
lief in  justice  must,  as  he  urges, 
precede  the  belief  in  a  just  God. 
{Virhu^  Book  I.  Pt.  ni.  §  2.) 
Theism  follows  from  moraliiy,  not 
morality  from  Theism.  And  thns 
'  religion '  (by  which  he  means  a 
belidf  in  Grod)  *  is  capable  of  doing 
great  good  or  great  harm,  and 
Atheism  nothing  positive  in  either 
way.'  A  belief  in  a  bad  deity  will 
produce  bad  worshippers,  as  a  be- 
lief in  a  good  deity  produces  good 
ones.  Atheism,  indeed,  implies  an 
unhealthy  frame  of  mind,  for  it 
means  a  belief  that  we  are  *  living 
in  a  distracted  uniyerse,*  which  can 
prodnce  in  us  no  emotions  of  re- 
verence and  love,  and  thns  it  tends 
to  embitter  the  temper  and  impair 
*  the  very  principle  of  virtue,  natu- 
ral and  kind  affection.'  (lb,  Pt. 
III.  §  3.)  A  belief  in  God, 
on  the  other  hand,  means  with 
Shaftesbury  a  perception  of  harmo- 
nions  order,  and  a  mind  in  unison 
with  the  system  of  which  it  forms  a 
part.  Atheism  is  the  discordant, 
and  Theism  the  harmonious,  utter- 
ance given  out  by  our  nature  ac- 
cording as  it  is  or  is  not  in  tune 
with  the  general  order. 

ir  at  times  he  uses  language 
which  would  fit  into  an  orthodox 
seruum  about  a  '  personal  God*  (see 

MoraltstSf  Pfc.  II.  §  3),  he  more  fre- 
quently seems  to  draw  his  inspira- 
tion from  Spinoza. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  Shaftesbury's 
eloquence  lies  the  doctrine  of  optim- 
ism, which  he  shares  with  Leibnitz, 
•Whatever  is,  is  right,'  as  Pope 
expressed  the  lesson  which  he  per- 
haps learnt  from  Shaftesbury,  or  in 
the  phrase  of  Pangloss,  'Everything 
is  for  the  best  in  this  best  of  all 
possible  worlds.'  He  opens  the. 
Enquiry  irdo  Virtue  by  arguing  that 
there  is  no  real  ill  in  the  universe. 
All  that  is  apparently  ill  is  the 
mere  effect  of  our  ignorance.  The 
weakness  of  the  human  infant,  for 
example,  is  the  cause  of  parental 
affiection;  and  all  philanthropical 
influences  are  founded  on  the  wants 
of  man.  *What  can  be  happier 
than  such  a  deficiency  as  is  the 
occasion  of  so  much  good  ? ' 
{Moralists,  Pt.  II.  §  4.)  If  there 
be  a  supremely  good  and  all-ruling 
Mind,  runs  his  argument,  there 
can  be  nothing  intrinsically  bad. 
An  inversion  of  the  logic  would 
correspond  more  accurately  to  his 
state  of  mind.  He  believes  in 
God  because  he  will  not  believe  in 
the  reality  of  evil.  The  Deity  gives 
him  the  leverage  of  repelling  all 
ill  from  the  world.  Christians,  it 
is  sometimes  said,  are  forced  to 
believe  in  a  Devil  as  the  antithesis 
of  the  good  principle ;  tbey  require 
a  scapegoat  to  b^  the  responsi- 
bility of  our  sins.  Shaftesbury 
abolishes  the  Devil  and  sin  together. 
He  refuses  to  look  at  the  dark  side 
of  things,  and  declares  it  to  be 
mere  illusion. 

In  conformity  with  this  view,  he 
expends  all  his  eloquence  upon  the 
marvellous  beauties  of  the  universe. 
We  can  perceive,  he  says,  a  universal 
frame  of  things,  dimly  indeed,  and 
yet  clearly  enough  to  throw  us  into 
ecstasies  of  adoration.  He  invokes 
the  Muses,  and  sings  prose  hymns 
to  nature  in  the  attempt  to  expand 
the  words  of  Dryden*s  hymn : — 


Shafi^lmy'i  ^Oharaeteristies: 


F^m  hiinnony.  iiy>iii  b^renly  bannoa;, 

This  universal  t'rame  began, 

From  harmony  to  harmony 
Tbrongb  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran. 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  man. 

Harmony  is  Shaftesbary's  catch- 
word. On  that  te;ct  he  is  never 
tired  of  dilating.  If  in  the  general 
current  of  harmony  there  are  some 
discords,  they  are  to  be  resolved 
into  a  fuller  harmony  as  onr  intelli- 
gence rises.  If  we  complain  of 
anything  useless  in  nature,  we  are 
like  men  on  board  a  ship  in  harbour, 
aTid  ignorant  of  its  purpose,  who 
might  complain  of  the  masts  and 
sails  as  useless,  encumbrances.  He 
dwells,  however,  less  upon  metaphors 
of  this  kind,  which  suggest  Paley's 
view  of  the  Almighty  as  a  supreme 
artificer,  than  upon  the  general 
order  and  harmony  (for  that  word 
is  never  far  from  his  lips)  percepti- 
ble throughout  the  universe.  God, 
we  may  almost  say,  is  the  harmony, 
though  be  does  not  explicitly  adopt 
Pantheism.  Theocles,  the  expounder 
of  his  theory  in  Tfie  Moralists^  sets 
forth  this  view  in  a  set  hymn  to 
nature,  which,  in  spite  of  its  fomu 
aJities  and  old-fashioned  defects  of 
style,  is  at  times   really  eloquent. 

*  O  mighty  nature  1 '  he  exclaims, 

*  wise  substitute,  of  Providence, 
empowered  creatress !  Oh,  thou  em- 
powering Deity,  supreme  Creator! 
thee  I  invoke  and  thee  alone  adore  1 
To  thee  this  solitude,  this  place, 
these  rural  meditations  are  sacred  ; 
whilst  thus  inspired  with  harmony 
of  thought,  though  unconfined  by 
words  and  in  loose  numbers,  I  sing 
of  nature's  order  in  created  thinsrs, 
and  celebrate  the  beauties  which 
revolve  in  thee,  the  source  and 
principle  of  all  beauty  and  perfec- 
tion. '  There  is  beauty  in  the  laws 
of  matter,  in  sense  and  thought,  in 
the  noble  universe,  in  earth,  air, 
water,  light,,  in  the  animal  crea- 
tion and  in  natural  scenery. 
.(M^iralistSy  Pt.  III.  §1..)  Pope 
or  Wordsworth — for  the  two.  have 
some  points  in  common — ^may  ex- 

•  pound  his  views  in  rhetorical  irerae 
and  in  lofly  poetry.  We  need  not 
pursue  him  into  details. 

From   the   conception  thus  ex- 
pounded, all  Shaftesbury's  views  of 
morality  and  religion  may  be  easily 
deduced.  His  quarrel  with  the  theo- 
logians of  his  day  rests  on  &r  deep- 
er grounds  than  any  mere  quarrel 
about  Hebrew  legends  or  Christian 
miracles.     His  objection  to  belief  in 
the  letter  of  Scripture  is  a  corollary 
from  his  theory,  not  its  foundation. 
We  need  not  enquire  whether  the 
charges  which  he   brings   against 
divines  are  founded  on  a  misappre- 
hension of  the  true  spirit  of  Chrikiti- 
anity,  or  whether  upon   the  aoci- 
dental  or  the    essential   doctrines. 
To  one  great  school  of  divinity,  at 
any  rate,  he  is  wholly  opposed.   He 
charges  the  divines,  in  substance, 
with  blaspheming  Qod,the  universe, 
and  man.      They  blaspheme   God 
because    they    represent    Him    as 
angry  witli  His  creatures,  as  punish- 
ing the    innocent  for  the    guilty, 
and  appeased  by  the  sufferings  of 
the  virtuous.     They  blaspheme  the 
universe  because,'  in  their  zeal  to 
*  miraculise  everything,'   they  rest 
the  proof  of  theology  rather  upon 
the  interruptions  to  order  than  upon 
order  itself.    (Aforalt'sU,  Pt.  II.  §  4) 
They  paint  the  world  in  the  darke^^t 
colours  in  order  to  throw  a  futare 
world  into  relief,  and  thus,  as  Bo- 
linsTbroke  afterwards   put   it,  the 
divines  are  in  tacit  alliance  with 
the  Atheists.     Make  the  universe  a 
scene  of  hideous  chaos,  and  is  not 
the  inference  that  there  is  no  God 
more  lesfitimate  than  the  inference 
that  a  God  exists  to  provide  com- 
pensation   somewhere  ?       Shaftes- 
bnry's  view  may  be  compared  with 
Butler's,  whose  writings  bear  many 
traces  of  his  influence.  Shaftesbary, 
like  Butter,  insists  upon  the  neces- 
sity of  regardini^  the  universe  as  a 
half-understood  scheme.  We  cannot, 
he  says,  understand  the  part  without 
a  competent  knowledgeof  the  wholo. 
The  spider  is  made  for  the  fly,  and 


Shafitslmy^B  *  CharaeterisHee.* 

the  fly  ibr  tlM»  spider.  The  web  and 
the  wing  are  nniied  to  each  other. 
To  anderstand  the  leaf  we  i&aat  gO 
to  the  root.  (Virtue,  Pt.  II.  4  i.) 
Every  nataralist  mast  anderstand 
the  oi^ganiaation  in  order  to  explain 
the  organs.  ( Jforoiurfo,  Pt.  II.  §4.) 
Bat  in  Ba tier's  view,  the  world  of 
sense  is  imperfect  and  anintelligible 
except  as  a  preparation  for  a  fatare 
world.  Earth  is  the  ante-room  to 
keaten  and  hell.  It  is  the  8eed*plot 
of  the  harvest  that  can  only  be 
ivaped  in  eternity.  If  man,  to 
adopt  ShaHesbary's  familiar  illas* 
tnUion,  is  the  fly,  the  Devil  is  the 
spider.  In  Shaftesbnry's  view,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  is  no  Devil 
and  no  spider  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  aui verse.  The  world  is  a  com- 
plete whole  in  itself.  The  harmony 
is  perfect  withoat  the  choras  of 
the  angels.  The  planets  sing  as 
they  shine,  *  the  hand  that  made  as 
is  Dirioe ; '  bat  they  do  not  require 
the  interpretation  of  a  snpemataral 
revelation.  The  Divinity,  he  thoaght, 
had  heen  exiled  from  the  aniverse, 
aiid  it  was  his  parpose  to  reclaim 
for  the  world  aronnd  as  the  trea- 
sures of  beanty  which  divines  had 
removed  to  heaven. 

Bat,  most  of  all,  divines  had  bias- 
phemed  man.  The  dogmas  which 
assert  the  oorraptton  of  oar  natare 
are  radically  opposed  to  Shaftes- 
bai7*8  theory.  Here,  again,  the 
same  delasion  was  to  be  enconn- 
lered.  In  their  zeal  to  vindicate 
G<>d,  the  divines  had  pronoanced 
all  oar  own  qoalities  to  be  essen- 
tially vile.  They  had  given  oar 
virtaes  to  Ood,  and  lefl  to  us  merely 
the  refnse  of  selfiHhness  and  sensa- 
ality.  This  is  the  explanation  from 
aoother  side  of  his  doctrine  of  en- 
thusiasm. Yon  call  year  own  im- 
polaea  Divine  inspiration,  he  says  in 
efect^  when  they  are  essentially 
hnman.  With  an  affectation  of  self- 
ahasement  yoa  are  really  indalgpng 
ill  bhisphemons  arrogance.  The  de- 
lasions  from  ^bich  you  saffer  are  the 
natatal  effect  of  the  miseoaeeption. 

Ood:  has  endowed  man'with  his  viri- 
taoas  as  well  as  with  his  indifferent 
and  his  vicioos.impalses^  By  arbi- 
trarily dividing  hamaniiy,  you  fall 
into  abject  saperstition,  for  yoa  are 
as  apt  to  make  yoar  Ood  oat  of 
the  vicioas  as  of  the  virtaoas  qaa- 
lities.  This  doctrine  brings  Shaftes* 
bnry  into  collision  with  the  whole 
theory  of  future  rewards  and  punish* 
ments.  He  believes,  indeed,  in  an 
immaterial  soul;  and  he  does  not 
explicitly  deny  the  existence  of  a 
hell,  or,  at  least,  he  does  not  deny 
that  a  belief  in  hell  has  its  advan- 
tages— for  the  vulgar.  But  he 
labours  energetically  to  show  that 
hopes  and  fears  of  a  future  state 
are  so  far  from  being  the  proper 
motive  to  virtue,  that  they  are 
rather  destructive  of  its  essential 
character.  Not  only  may  such 
weapons  be  pressed  into  the  service 
of  an  evil  deity,  but  they  are  radi- 
cally immoral.  The  man  who  obeys 
the  law  under  threats  is  no  better 
than  the  man  who  breaks  it  when 
at  liberty.  *  There  is  no  more  of 
rectitude,  piety  or  sanctity  in  a 
creature  thus  reformed  than  there 
is  of  meekness  or  gentleness  in  a 
tiger  strongly  (Gained,  or  inno- 
cence and  sobriety  in  a  monkey 
under  the  discipline  of  the  whip.^ 
The  greater  the  obedience,  the 
greater  the  morality.  The  habit  of 
acting  from  such  motives  strength- 
ens self- love,  and  discourages  the 
disinterested  love  of  Ood  for  His 
own  sake.  (Virtue,  Book  I.  Pt.  III. 
§3.)  In  short,  'the  excellence  of 
the  object,  not  the  reward  or  punish* 
ment,  should  be  our  motive,'  though, 
where  the  higher  motive  is  inade- 
quate, the  lower  may  be  judiciously 
brought  in  aid.  (Moralists,  Pt,  iL 
§3.)  *A  devil  and  a  hell,'  as  he 
elsewhere  puts  it,  'may  prevail 
where  a  gaol  and  gallows  are 
thought  insnflicient;'  but  such  mo- 
tives, he  is  careful  t^  add,  are  suit- 
able to  the  vulgar,  not  to  the  Uiberal, 
polished,,  and  refined  pari  of  .man- 
kind/ who  are  apt  to  show  that  they 


Shaftesbury's  *  Characteristics,' 


hold  such  'pious  narrations  to  be  in- 
deed no  better  than  children's  tales 
or  the  amusement  of  the  mere  vul- 
gar.' (M«  Hell,  in  short, 
is  a  mere  outpost  on  the  frontiers 
of  virtue,  erected  by  judicious  per- 
sons to  restrain  the  vulgar  and  keep 
us  from  actual  desertion,  but  not  an 
aniniating  and  essential  part  of  the 
internal  discipline.  It  need  not  be 
pointed  out  how  far  this  diverges 
from  Butler's  theory  of  our  present 
life  as  a  *  probationary  state.' 

Shaftesbury's  theory  of  virtue 
brought  him  into  collision,  not 
merely  with  the  divines,  but  with 
fiome  of  their  bitterest  opponents. 
The  doctrine  of  hell,  in  the  hands 
of  vulgar  expositors,  implies  a  be- 
lief in  the  utter  selfishness  of  man- 
kind. We  are  essentially  vicious 
*  tigers'  or  'monkeys,'  to  be  kept 
in  awe  by  the  chain  and  the  whip. 
The  cynics  of  the  time,  of  'whom 
Mandeville  was  the  most  pi*ominent 
representative,  accepted  this  theory 
of  humau  nature,  whilst  abolishing 
the  doctrine  founded  upon  it.  In 
their  view,  expanded  iuto  a  philo- 
sophy by  Hobbes,  the  arch-enemy, 
end  crystallised  into  maxims  by 
Rochefoucauld,  man  was  selfish,  and 
all  his  virtues  mere  modifications 
of  selfishness.  Mandeville  tried  to 
show  that  public  spirit,  honour, 
chastity,  and,  benevolence  were  sim- 
ply vices  in  disguise.  They  were 
not  the  less  useful  because  tbunded 
on  hypocrisy,  but  they  were  mere 
hollow  shows.  Shaftesbuiy's  attack 
upon  this  doctrine  was  that  which 
chiefly  commended  him  to  his  con- 
temporaries. They  would  accept 
«ven  a  Deist  as  an  ally  against  a 
deadlier  enemy.  The  term  '  moral 
sense,'  which  he  invented  to  ex- 
plain his  doctrines,  was  turned  to 
account  by  his  successors.  Hut- 
cheson  worked  up  the  theory  with 
little  alteration  into  nn  elaborate 
system.  In  Butler  the  moral  sense 
is  transformed  into  a  conscience,  a 
word  more  appropriate  to  his  theo* 
logical  conoeptionB.    Hartley  tried 

to  explain  the  moral  faculty  by  the 
laws  of  association,  and  Adam  Smith 
by  resolving  it  into  sympathy.  In 
oue  shape  or  another  it  played  an 
important  part  in  the  controversies 
of  the  century.  For,  in  fact,  when 
the  old  supports  of  morality  were 
fiilling  into  decay,  men  naturally 
attached  supreme  importance  to  a 
bold  assertion  of  the  truth,  that  be- 
nevolence is  not  a  coldblooded  cal- 
culation of  our  private  interests. 
Shaftesbury  was. the  leader  in  the 
struggle  against  that  grovelling  form 
of  utilitarianism.  Without  tracing 
the  connection  of  ideas  more  elabo- 
rately, it  is  enough  to  refer  to  the 
passage  in  which  Shaftesbury  gives 
his  own  view  most  pointedly.  His 
writings  are  everywhere  fuU  of  the 
same  doctrine.  Should  anyone  ask 
me,  he  says,  why  I  would  avoid 
being  nasty  when  nobody  was  pre- 
sent, I  should  think  him  a  very 
nasty  gentleman  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion. If  he  insisted,  I  should  reply, 
Because  I  have  a  nose.  If  ho  con- 
tinued, What  if  you  could  not  smell  ? 
I  should  reply  that  I  would  not  see 
myself  nasty.  But  if  it  was  in  the 
dark  ?  *  Why,  even  then,  though  1 
had  neither  nose  nor  eyes,  my  sense 
of  the  matter  would  still  be  the 
same :  my  nature  would  rise  at  the 
thoughts  of  what  was  sordid ;  or  if 
it  did  not,  I  should  have  a  wretched 
nature  indeed,  and  hate  myself  for 
a  beast.' 

Our  hatred  to  vice,  in  short, 
is  a  primitive  instinct.  Shaftes- 
bury, indeed,  is  rather  apt  to  cut 
the  knot.  As  he  summarily  de- 
nies the  existence  of  evil,  be  is 
almost  inclined  to  deny  the  real 
existence  of  vicious  propensities; 
aud  he  rather  shirks  than  satisfac- 
torily answers  the  difficulty  arising 
from  the  possible  collision  between 
interest  and  virtue.  He  declares 
roundly  that  it  does  not  exist.  *  To 
be  wicked  or  vicious  is  to  be  miser- 
able;' and  'every  vicious  action 
must  be  self- injurious  and  ill.' 
Why,  then,  one  is  disposed  to  ask, 


Shaftesbury' if  '  GharacteriBtieB* 


is  Tirtae  so  bold  ?  Bat,  indeed,  to 
be  an  optimist  one  most  learn  the 
lesson  of  how  to  shut  one's  eyes. 

Shaftesbury's  theory,*  however, 
fails  in  with  his  general  system. 
What,  after  all,  is  this  moral  sense 
of  which  he  speaks  ?  What  arc  the 
special  actions  which  it  approves? 
How  do  we  know  that  its  approval 
is  final  ?  What  is  the  criterion  of 
morality,  and  what  the  sanctions 
which,  in  fact,  oblige  ns  to  obey  its 
dictates?  To  some  of  these  ques- 
tions Shaftesbury  gives  a  suffi- 
ciently vagae  reply,  but  his  main 
iQswer  cannot  be  doubtful.  The 
moral  sense  is  merely  a  particular 
case  of  that  sense  by  which  we  per- 
ceive the  all-pervading  harmony. 
That  harmony,  as  revealed  to  our 
imagination,  produces  the  sense  of 
the  beautifal;  as  partially  appre- 
hended by  our  reason  it  producea 
philosophy;  and  as  intellect,  in  the 
workings  of  human  nature,  it  gives 
rise  to  the  moral  sense. 

The  aesthetic  and  the  moral  per- 
ceptions are  the  same,  the  only 
di {Terence  being  in  the  object  to 
which  they  are  applied.  *  Beauty 
aad  good,  with  you,  Theocles,'  he 
saTs,  '  are  still  one  and  the  same.' 
(iLiralisls,  Pt.  III.  §  2.)  Or, 
as  be  says  elsewhere,  *  What  is 
beaatifal  is  harmonious  and  pro- 
portionable ;  what  is  harmonious 
and  proportionable  is  true  ;  and 
what  is  at  once  both  beautiful  and 
troe,  is  of  consequence  agreeable 
and  good.'  (Mis.  III.  ch.  2.) 
It  would  be  superfluous  to  trace  the 
association  of  Shaftesbuiy^s  ideal 
from  the  classical  moralists,  who 
were  his  favourite  study,  or  from 
their  interpreters,  the  Cambridge 
Piaionists.  One  consequence  fol- 
lows, horn,  which  Shaftesbury  does 
not  shrink.  If  the  good  and  the 
beaQtifd  are  the  same,  the  faculty 
of  moral  approbation  is  the  same 
faculty  which  judges  of  the  fine  arts. 
We  recognise  a  hero  as  we  recognise 
a  poet  or  a  painter.  And  thus 
Shaflesbniy'a  last  word  is,  Cultivate 

your  taste.  Criticism  is  of  sur- 
passing importance  in  his  eyes, 
because  criticism  is  the  art  of  form- 
ing accurate  judgments,  whether 
of  religion,  or  art,  or  morality.  He 
divides  human  passions  into  the 
natural  affections,  which  lead  to  the- 
good  of  the  public  ;  the  *  self-afiec- 
tions,  which  lead  only  to  the  good 
of  the  private ;'  and  those  which,  as 
simply  injurious,  may  be  called  the 
*  unnatural  affections.'  {Virtue^ 
Pt.  I.  §  3.)  To  eliminate  the 
last,  and  to  establish  a  just  harmony^ 
between  the  others,  is  the  problem 
of  the  moralist ;  and  he  will  judge 
of  the  harmonious  development  of 
a  man  as  a  critic  would  judge  of  the 
harmony  of  a  painting  or  a  piece  of 
music.  Man,  again,  can  be  fully 
understood  only  as  part  of  the  gi*eat 
human  family.  He  will  be  in  har- 
mony with  his  race  when  so  deve- 
loped as  to  contribute  in  the  greatest 
degree  to  the  general  harmony. 
He  is  a  member  of  a  vast  choir,  and 
must  beat  out  his  part  in  the 
general  music.  Hence  he  dwells 
chiefly  on  the  development  of  the 
benevolent  emotions,  though  ex- 
plicitly admitting  that  they  may 
be  sometimes  developed  in  excess. 
The  love  of  humanity,  however, 
must  be  the  ruling  passion.  He 
meets  the  objection — one  often 
made  to  Comte — that  one  may  love 
the  individual  but. not  the  species, 
which  is  '  too  metaphysical  an  ob* 
ject'  {Moralists^  II.  §  i),  by 
maintaining  that  to  be  a  *  friend  to- 
anyone  in  particular  it  is  necessary 
to  be  first  a  friend  to  mankind.' 
(16.  §  2.)  He  has  been  in 
love,  he  says,  with  the  people  of 
ancient  Borne  in  many  ways,  but 
specially  under  the  symbol  of  •  a 
beautiful  youth  called  the  Qenius  of 
the  People.'  Make  such  a  figure  of 
mankind  or  nature,  and  he  will 
regard  it  with  equal  affection. 
(Moralists,  Pt.  IT.  §  2.)  The 
answer  is  the  hymn  to  nature,, 
already  quoted. 
Amongst  various  comments  upon 


Shafieshury^s  ^  GharacterisUcs* 


Shaflesbaryt  this  part  of  his  system 
was  *  selected  for    epeeial    attack. 
The  iDorah*8ts,  generally  known  as 
the  Intellectnal  school,  maintained 
that  it  made  all  morality  arbitrary. 
Price,  for  example,  in  his  system  of 
morality,  argaes  that  as  there  is  no 
disputing  about    tastes,    a    moral 
theory  which  rests  upon  taste  would 
allow    of    an    infinite    variety   of 
fluctuating  standards.    Shaftesbury 
had  anticipated  and  endeavoured  to 
refute  the  objection.     Ho  declared 
that  the  maxims  drawn  from  poli- 
tical theories  as  to  the  balance  of 
power  were  *as  evident  as  those  in 
mathematics'   {Wit  and  Uumour, 
Pt.   III.    §    i),   and  inferred  that 
moral  maxims  founded  on  a  proper 
theory   of  the  balance  of  passions 
would  be  equally  capable  of  rigid 
demonstration.      The  harmony  of 
which  he  spoke  had  an  objective 
reality,  and  did  not  reside  in  the 
•ear  of  the  hearer.      The  cultivation 
of  the  moral  sense  was  necessary 
to  enable  us  to  catch  its  Divine 
notes ;  but    the   judgment  of   all 
cultivated    observers    would    ulti- 
mately be  the  same.     If  a  writer  on 
music  were  to  say  that  the  rule  of 
harmony  was  caprice,  he  would  be 
ridiculous.     *  Harmony  is  harmony 
by  nature,  let  men  judge  ever  so  ri- 
diculously of  music'  Symmetry  and 
proportion  are  equally  founded  in 
nature,  'let  men's  fancy  prove  ever 
80  barbarous  or  their  fashions  ever 
80  Gothic  in  their  architecture,  sculp- 
ture, or  other  designing  art.      'Tis 
the  same  case  where  life  and  man- 
ners are  concerned .     Virtue  has  the 
same  fixed  standard.      The  same 
numbers,  harmony  and  proportion, 
will  have  place  in  morals  ;  and  are 
discoverable  in  the  character  and 
affections  of  mankind ;  in  which  are 
laid  the  just  foundations  of  our  i.rt 
and  science,  superior  to  every  other 
of  human  practice  and  comprehen- 
sion.'     (Soliloquy,  Pt.   III.  §    3.) 
Shaftesbury  is  in  his  own  language, 
a  *  realist '  in  his  Theism  and  his 
morality.    Virtue  is  a  l*e^lityy  and 

can  be  discovered  by  all  who  will 
go  through  the  necessary  process 
of  self-cuitnre. 

Of  Shaftesbury's  theories,  false 
or  true,  it  may  safely  be  said  that 
they  were  of  high  value  as  pratests 
against  the  materialising  tendencius 
of  his  age.  It  was  good  that  men 
should  hHve  a  loftier  theory  of  re- 
ligion put  before  them  than  that 
which  made  heaven  and  hell  the 
sole  motive  powers,  and  aspired  to 
erect  a  trained  and  deliberate  Kelf- 
ishness  into  the  place  of  all  the 
virtues.  If  his  explanations  were 
not  satisfactory,  they  helped  to 
raise  men  above  the  teach ing.^  of 
the  metaphysicians  and  the  cynics. 
The  two  theories  which  were  in 
possession  of  the  field  when  he 
wrote,  appeared  to  imply  that 
morality  was  a  branch  of  pure 
mathematics  or  of  mechanic-'. 
Neither  would  bear  inspection,  aii<l 
both  sanctioned  the  selfishness  of 
the<  prevailing  theological  dogmas. 
Shaftesbury's  protest  was  needel, 
and  the  spirit  of  his  practical 
morality  was  elevated  if  rather 
wanting  in  force.  In  spite  of  bis 
confused  and  pedantic  style,  there 
struggle  to  light  in  his  pages  many 
indications  of  a  really  noble  spirit, 
a  wide  cultivation,  and  a  sympathy 
with  the  chief  intellectual  cuirents 
of  his  time. 

And  yet  it  is  not  to  be  denied 
that  there  is  something  flimsy  in  his 
speculations.  They  crumble  in  cor 
hands.  When  we  would  come  to 
close  quarters  with  him  he  with- 
draws, like  a  Homeric  god,  into  a 
cloud  of  rather  unsubstantial  elo- 
quenue.  He  has  been  accused,  and, 
in  spite  of  Dr.  Spicker's  protest,  I 
think  truly  accused,  of  what  may 
be  called  superfine  philosophy.  His 
morality  is  meant  for  the  cultivated 
gentleman  and  '  virtuoso,' :  not  for 
the  ordinary  man  at  death-grips 
with  the  evils  of  the  world.  He 
calmly  leaves  hell  for  the  vulgar, 
and  holds  in  a  new  sense  that  snch 
a.  place  sl^ould  not  be  meniioued 


8hafteshury*B  '  Charaeteriiiics.' 


to  ears  polite.  He  would  so  far 
approve  the  sentiment  aboat  Qod 
thiukiog  twice  before  damning  a 
person  of  qnality,  that  he  wonid 
oertaioly  consider  snch  a  raeasnre 
snperflaons.  Cnltivation  of  the 
tiste  is  a  very  excellent  thing,  but 
Dot  qaite' applicable  to  ploughmen 
ftod  sempstresses.  Yet  the  plongh- 
men  and  the  sempstresses  require 
the  aids  of  religion  as  ma  ch  as  their 
Deij^hboars ;  and,  indeed,  a  morality 
which  abandons  the  task  of  reach- 
ing the  poor  and  ignorant  is  bnt 
poor  btulfat  bottom.  When  Shaftes- 
bury contemptuously  turned  over 
the  vulgar  to  be  kept  in  order  by 
threats  of  hell,  he  was  in  fact  aban- 
dooing  the  real  power  over  mankind 
to  the  priests,  whom  ho  despised, 
bat  who  knew  how  to  work  that 
terrible  machinery.  Underljing 
this  weakness,  however,  there  is,  as 
Dr.  Spicker  well  proves,  a  far  deeper 
one.  Optimism  is  a  very  pleasant 
theoiy,  but  it  cannot  be  made  to 
work.  Candlde  will  get  the  better 
of  PangToss  when  their  theories  are 
tested  by  experience.  There  are 
biJeoas  thinga  in  the  world  which 
caDnot  be  hid  from  sight  or  left  out 
of  oar  account  in  drawing  up 
Bcbemes  of  morality.  Poverty  and 
starvation  and  disease  may  be 
blessings  in  disguise,  but  the  diu- 
goise  will  last  our  time.  To  say 
that  they  are  r^ot  real  evils,  is  use- 
Ie^«<  for  Shaftesbury's  purpose.  We 
bave  to  assume  their  reality,  whether 

or  not  we  may  be  able  to  discover 
Bome  day  that  they  are  ultimately 
mere  shams.  Nobody  in  jgrief  or 
serious  temptation  would  be  in- 
fluenced by  Shaftesbury's  plausible 
philosophising.  To  the  statement  that 
there  cannot  be  evil,  they  reply  only 
too  confidently  there  is.  To  bear 
up  against  it,  and  to  fight  our  way 
to  a  better  state  of  things,  is  our 
great  duty  in  this  world ;  and  we 
shall  not  overcome  our  enemies  by 
blandly  denying  their  existence. 
The  error  into  which  Shaftesbury 
fal's  is  something  like  the  ordinary 
misconceptions  of  Berkeley's  theory. 
Because  there  is  said  to  be  no 
such  thing  as  substcmce,  we  are  to 
knock  our  heads  against  a  post. 
Because  there  is  no  cure  for  evil  in 
Shaftesbury's  metaphysical  system, 
we  are  to  act  in  this  world  of  hard 
facts  as  if  it  were  a  mere  fancy.  It  is 
better  to  take  things  as  they  are, 
and  make  the  best  of  them  without 
vain  repinings  in  an  equally  vain 
attempt  to  retreat  into  a  dreamland 
of  philosophy. 

To  complete,  however,  the  view 
of  Shaftesbury's  influence  on  his 
time,  and  to  detect  the  causes  of 
its  failure  and  success,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  consider  the  theories  of 
some  of  his  opponents.  The  most 
complete  antithesis  to  Shaftesbury 
was  Mandeville;  and  on  a  future 
occasion  we  may  endeavour  to  draw 
his  portrait  by  way  of  pendant  to 
that  of  his  noble  antagonist. 

L.  S. 




was  bom  at  Marseilles,  April 
1 6, 1 79 7.  His  mother,  whose  family, 
once  wealthy  by  commerce,  had 
fallen  into  poverty,  was  married 
to  a  mechanic,  a  locksmith  by 
trade.  M.  Thiers  thus  began  life 
without  any  adventitious  aid  from 
fortune,  either  of  birth  or  purse. 
He  has  become  an  historian  of 
celebrity;  he  has  taken  the  fore- 
most rank  in  politics  as  well  as  in 
literature.  Amongst  the  number- 
less decorations  and  titles  of  honour 
held  by  him  at  various  times,  are 
those  of  President  of  tbe  Council, 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  Minis- 
ter of  the  Interior,  Member  of  the 
French  Academy,  Orand  OflScer  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour,  and,  at  the 
last,  to  crown  his  life,  we  see  him 
in  his  present  exalted  position. 
We  must  acknowledge  that  this 
man,  who  began  his  career  without 
a  penny  piece,  with  no  name,  in 
person  of  mean  appearance,  without 
a  patron  or  friends,  owes  more  to 
himself  than  to  fortune.  Nature's 
gifls  to  him  -^ere  great  talents,  and 
no  less  ambition,  indomitable  force 
of  will,  and  great  tenacity  of  pur- 
pose. Young  Thiers  commenced 
his  education  at  the  imperial  lycSe 
of  Marseilles,  having  won  a  scho- 
lai*ship,  and  being  partly  as&isted 
by  his  maternal  relatives.  Here 
he  worked  hard  until  the  age  of 
eighteen,  when  in  18 15  he  went  up 
to  Aix  to  study  law.  At  Aix  he 
formed  a  friendship,  continued 
through  life,  with  M.  Mignet,  who, 
like  himself,  had  come  up  to  Aix 
from  the  imperial  lycee  at  Avignon, 
and  whose  name,  as  an  historian 
and  publicist,  rivals  that  of  his  more 
politically  famous  fellow-student. 
Both  the  youths,  while  studying 
the  Digest  and  the  Civil  Code  for 
their  examinations,  gave  themselves 
up  with  ardour  to  the  pursuit  of 

literature,  philosophy,  histoiy,  and 
politics.  Thiers  soon  became  the 
leader  of  a  party  amongst  the 
students,  and  at  their  meetings 
used  to  denounce  in  violent  lan- 
guage the  Gk)vemment  of  the  Re- 
storation, was  for  ever  *  spouting ' 
against  it,  and  rehearsing  the  glo- 
rious memory  of  the  Republic  and 
of  the  Empire.  In  tliis  way  he  got 
into  disgrace  with  the  professor.^ 
who  loved  peace  and  quiet,  and 
became  an  abouHnation  in  the  eyes 
of  the  commissary  of  police,  while 
his  comrades  adored  him. 

In  spite,  however,  of  all  opposi- 
tion, he  carried  off  the  prize  for 
eloquence:  and  a  good  story  is 
told  of  the  way  in  which  he  won  it. 
Young  Thiers  sent  in  an  essay  for 
a  prize  offered  by  the  Academy  of 
Aix ;  his  name,  however,  was  di- 
vulged, and  the  learned  Areopagites, 
rather  than  assign  the  prize  to  the 
little  Jacobin,  which  his  efforts  had 
entitled  him  to,  determined  to 
postpone  the  adjudication  of  the 
prize  to  the  following  year.  At 
the  time  appointed  the  manu- 
script of  M.  Thiers  reappear- 
ed, but  meanwhile  an  essay  had 
come  from  Paris  which  distanced  all 
the  others,  and  gained  the  crown, 
while  that  of  M.  Thiers  was  placed 
second.  Great  was  the  grief  of 
the  Academicians  of  Bouches-du- 
Rhdue  when,  on  unsealing  the 
motto  of  the  laureate  from  Paris,  it 
was  found  to  belong  to  M.  Thiers, 
who'  had  maliciously  amused  him- 
self with  mystifying  the  honourable 
Academicians  by  treating  the  subject 
of  the  prize  from  another  point  of 
view,  having  his  manuscript  copieii 
by  a  strange  hand,  and  forward- 
ing it  to  Paris,  whence  it  was 
sent  to  Aix.  He  thus  won  both 
the  prize  and  the  prorime  accessU. 

Having  donned  the  legal  robe,  M. 
Thiers  soon  saw  tliat,  in  a  town 


A  Sketch  of  M,  Thiers. 


where  name  and   connections  had 
mach  to  do  with  the  snccess  of  a 
man,  it  would  be  difficult  for  him 
to  emei^  from  the  obscurity  in 
which  he  happened  to  have  been 
born.    He  therefore  determined  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  Paris,  whither 
>I.  Mignct  accompanied  him,  and 
the  comrades  arrived  there    rich 
enongh  in  talents  and   hope,   but 
with  a  verj  light  purse.     An  eye- 
witness thus  describes  their  modest 
apartment     'I  climbed  up  to  the 
top     of     a     dingy     hotel     garni, 
situate    at    the    end   of  the    dark 
and    dirty    passage    Montesquieu, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  poptdous 
and  noisy  quarters  of  Paris.  Having 
reached  the  fourth  storey,  I  opened 
the  door  of  a  little   smoky  room, 
the  furniture  of  which  consisted  of 
a  small  chest  of  drawers,  a  wooden 
i)edstcad,  with  white   dimity  cur- 
tains, two  chairs,  and  a  little  black 
tahic,  very  shaky  on  its  legs.' 

The  poor  provincial  lawyer,  ob- 
>cnre  and  unknown,  did  not  waste 
his  time  in  waiting,  with  crossed 
arms,  for  fortune  to  come  to  him. 
In  the  beginning  of  1825,  during 
theVillele  Ministry,  M.Manuel,  the 
liberal  orator,  was  expelled  from 
the  Chamber.  M.  Thiers,  the  am- 
bitions plebeian,  saw  at  a  glance 
the  part  to  take  up  under  an  aris- 
tocratic Government,  and  at  once 
called  on  M.  Manuel,  who,  like  him- 
Eelf,  was  from  the  South.  M.  Thiers 
was  received  with  open  arms,  and 
introduced  to  M.  Laffitte,  and  placed 
on  the  list  of  writers  for  the  Oon- 
''I'tutiiynneL  M.  Thiers  understood 
how  to  turn  the  opportunity  to  ac- 
count. Eminently  gifted  by  nature 
for  polemics,  he  b^ame  noted  for 
the  power  and  boldness  of  his  pen, 
^d  the  young  journalist  soon  ob- 
tained the  entry  to  the  houses  of 
the  chiefis  of  the  Opposition,  MM. 
laffitte,  Caeimir  Perier,  De  Fla- 
^^t,  the  Baron  Louis,  and  M.  de 
Talleyraud,  the  last-named  by  no 
loeans  a  man  easy  of  access,  but 

.  VOL.  VII.— »0.  XXXVII.      NEW  SEBIBS.  ' 

who  quickly  divined  the  powers  of 
the  young  Southerner. 

M.    Thiers    to    his    marvellous 
facility  of  style  joined  a  wonderful 
memory,  a  prodigious  fluency,  and 
no  less   powers  of  quick  compre- 
hension.    He  found  time,   in  the 
midst   of  his  work   for  the  daily 
press,  to   make  visits,   talk    with 
everybody,  hear  everything,  and  to 
store  up  for  meditation  and  study 
the  fruit  of  his  conversations  with 
the  principal  actors  in  the  revolu- 
tionary drama ;  men  who  had  for- 
merly sat  in  the  Legislative  As- 
sembly, or  at  the  Council  of  the 
Five  Hundred,  or  had  been  Mem- 
bers of  the  Corps  Legislatif,  or  of 
the  Tribunate,   Girondins,  Monta- 
gnards,  old  generals  of  the  Empire, 
diplomates,  financiers,  men  of  the 
pen,   men  of  the   sword,   men   of 
brains,  men  of  physical  force.     Such 
were  the  various  men  with  whom 
M.  Thiers  daily  conversed,  question- 
ing   one,   button-holding    another,, 
giving  an  ear  to  all ;  and  then  he 
would    go    home,    weave    up    the 
broken  fragments,  and,  spending  the 
night  over  the  pages  of  the  Maniteur, 
add  another  leaf  to  his  History  of 
the  Revolution.     This  work,  which 
placed  M.  Thiers,  at  least  tempo- 
rarily, in  the  first  rank  of  literature, 
is  dedicated  to  the  glorification  of 
one  of  the  greatest  events  that  have 
occurred  in  the  world.    The  pictures 
of  men  of  the  day,  the  financial  and 
political  studies,  are  always  striking. 
The  military  part  is  treated  with 
a    clearness    of    strategical    expo- 
sition   and    firmness  of   handling 
wonderful   for   a    man    who   had 
never  seen  fire,  and  the  descriptions 
of  the  campaigns  in  Italy  are,  in 
the  opinion  of  competent  judges, 
real    chefs-d'oeuvre.     On  the  other 
hand,  many  think  the  work  has  a 
fundamental  taint,  the  result  of  the 
variety  of  impressions  the  author 
received  on  his  mind.     M.  Thiers 
starte  from    a   fatalistic   point   of 
view ;  he  admires  a  man  so  long  as 



A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers. 


he  is  snccessfal,  and  an  institntion 
nntil  it  crombles  away  and  falls  to 
the  ground.      With  M.  Thiers  he 

•  who  wins  is  always  right,  he  who 
loses  always  wrong.     It  is  a  system 

"of  complete  indifference — the  apo- 
theosis of  success. 

About  this  period  M.  Thiers  was 
introduced,  through  a  poor  book- 
seller,  by  name  Schubai^h.  to  the 
great  lord  and  millionaire  of  the 
publishing  world,  the  Baron  Cotta. 
The  Baron  conceived  an  enthusiastic 
admiration  fbr  M.  Thiers,  andshowed 
his  sympathy  in  the  practical  form 
of  a  present  of  a  share  in  the  Go^i- 
stitutionnel  paper,  at  that  time  of 
considerable  value.  Now  M.  Thiers 
descended  from  his  fourth  floor  and 
became  the  dandy,  frequented  Tor- 
toni's,  and  rode  in  the  Bois  de 

By  and  by  M.  Thiers  became 
dissatisfied  with  the  threadbare, 
monotonous  Voltait-eism  of  the  Gcm^ 
diiuilonnel.  He  thought  this  organ 
of  old-fashioned  Liberalism  behind 
the  times,  and  that  something 
younger  and  more  democratic  was 
wanted.  In  1828  M.  Thiers  started 
the  National,  under  the  financial 
patronage  of  the  leading  men  in 
the  Chamber,  being  assisted  by  M. 
Armand  Carrel  and  the '  cleverest 
men  of  the  most  advanced  party. 
Now  commenced  that  fierce  attack 
which  M.  Thiers  ably  and  pcrse- 
veringly  led  against  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  Restoration.  Day  after 
day  M.  Thiers  mounted  the  breach 
and  fought  M.  Polignac ;  he  ha- 
rassed the  Minister  unceasingly; 
he  blamed  him  for  what  he  did  and 
for  what  he  did  not  do,  giving  him 
neither  credit  nor  quarter.  The  re- 
sult was  the  Ordinances  of  July, 
the  reconstruction  of  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies,  and  the  barricades  on 
the  inoifning  of'  the  26th  of  July, 
1830.  All  the  journalists  met  at 
the  office  of  the  National,  M.  Thiers 
was  at  his  post ;  a  collective  protest 
was  drawn  up,'to  which  he  was  tiie 

first  to  attach  his  name — an  act 
of  undoubted  courage,  as  all  who 
signed  did  so  at  the  risk  of  their 
heads.  On  the  27th  of  July  the 
people  also  made  their  protest  in 
the  streets  by  the  barricades,  and 
signed  it  with  musket  shots.  M. 
Thiers,  probably  thinking  that  the 
pen  was  the  only  arm  he  could 
wield  with  advantage,  went  awaj 
to  take  a  stroll  beneath  the  oaks  at 
Montmorency,  and  re-entered  Paris 
on  the  29th,  when  the  fighting  was 
over.  The  story  goes  that  Mont- 
morency  being  not  a  great  way 
from  Neuilly,  M.  Thiers  made  a 
little  excursion  in  that  direction 
during  the  three  days. 

On  the  establishment  of  the  Go- 
vernment of  the  9th  of  August — that 
of  Louis  Philippe — M.  Thiers  wa< 
named  a  Privy  Councillor,  and  dis- 
charged  the  duties,  though  without 
the  title,  of  General  Secretary  of 
Finance,  under  tJie  Baron  Lonis. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  Ministry 
of  July,  which  was  made  up  of  in- 
compatible elements,  fell  to  pieces. 
One  section  desired  to  advance, 
another  to  remain  in  statu  quo ;  thi^^ 
party  urged  repressive  measures, 
that  propagandism;  The  liberals 
carried  the  day,^  and  M.  Laffitt* 
became  President  of  the  Council 
It  has  been  alleged  that  about  this 
time  the  King  offered  the  Portfolio 
of  Finance  to  the  young  Privy 
Councillor,  and  that  he  refused  it 
on  the  ground  of  his  youth,  not 
wishing  to  become  Minister  before 
his  time.  The  fact  requires  con- 
firmation. Be  it  as  it  may,  M. 
Thiers  now  received  the  official 
title  of  Under  Secretary  of  State, 
and,  under  M.  Laffifcte,  supported 
one  of  the  most  terrible  financial 
crises  France  had  known. 

M.  Laffitte  being  absorbed  with 
the  functions  pertaining  to  the  Pre* 
sident  of  the  Council,  the  Adminis- 
tration of  Finance  was  actoally 
directed  by  M.  Thiers,  who  showed, 
by  his  writings  upon  Law's  system, 


A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers, 


thA6  he  had  stfadied  the  satjeot 

M.  Thiers  iras  at  this  time  named 
Deputj.for  the  town  of  Aix,  and 
made  hie  d^nU  as  ft  speaker  in  the 
GhaznberB^  but  was  received  with 
stroog  marks  of  general  disf&Tonr. 
Saturated  with  the  memoriea  x)f  the 
ConveotioD,  M.  Thiers  posed  him- 
self a  la  Danton,  and  nuuie,  ose  of 
'taUtsJk.'  'He  would  save  PoJand; 
he  would  pass  the  Rhine,,  and  de- 
mociatisB  the  world  1 '     These  war- 
like ideas  frightened  the  timid^  and 
iiis  inrgid  deliveiy  fatig^ned  every- 
body.   On  the  Ml  of  M.  Laffitte, 
M.  Casimir  Perier  became  Minister 
(March  15,   183 1),  and  his  policy 
was  Uie  direct  contrary  to  that  of 
bis  predecessor.     The   Opposition,, 
which  rallied  round  M.  Laffitte,  ex- 
pected to  count  M..  Thiers  in  their 
ranks,  but  his  first  speech  was  a 
Timlent   attack,  upon    their    pro- 
gramme.   This  sudden  transfbrma^ 
don  wouDded  M.  Laffitta  deeply, 
embanaBsed  his  party,  and  asto- 
nished everybody.     The  friends  of 
M.   Thieis  explained  the  brusque 
change  on  the  plea  of  patriotism:—^ 
*^L  Thiers  had  thought  it  his  duty 
to  sacrifice  personal    convictions, 
friendship,    and    sympathy,     that 
France  ndght  have  repose. '    Hence^ 
forth  there  was  a  marked  coolness 
between  the  ex-President  of   the 
Conndl.  of  the  5th .  of  November 
and  tiie  ally  of  the  Ministry  of  the 
15th  of  March. 

Throughout  the  sessiou  M.  Thiers 
the  innovator  cared  for  no  more 
fiovaities;  M.  Thiers  the  martialist 
^^  I»x)pagandist  abhorred  both 
var  and  propagandism,  while  he 
^dly  proclaimed  the  necessity  of 
^^isxxi  and  peace. 

When  the  question  of  an  horoT 
ditary  peerage  came  on,  M.  Thiers 
alone  defended  ity  for  the .  Govern, 
ment,  fearing  the  strength  of  the 
Opposition,  gave  way.  Onthisocca* 
won  M.  Thiers  altered  his  style  of 
^P^^^l^ ;  froman  orator  he  became  a 

politician;  his  former  gesticulation 
and  bombast  were  chajigedfora  style 
r^imple,  lively,  and  rapid,  that  suc- 
.oeedi^d  marvellously.  The  heredi- 
tary peerage  was  lost,  bat  M.  Thiers  a  Jevel  with  the  best  speakers 
in  the  House,  and  ho  has  known 
Jbow  to  maintain  his  position. 

..Casimir  Perier  died  shortly  after 
.this,,  and  .on  October  ii,  1831,  M. 
-Thiers  arrived  at  Jast  at  the  Minis- 
try of  the  Interior,  Marshal  Soult  be- 
ing President,     The  position  of  tho 
.Government  was  very  alarming.  La 
.Vendee  was  in  a  bjaze.  Belgium  was 
threatened.  Irritation  was  uiiiversaL 
31.  Thiors.without  hesitation  turned 
towards  the  West,  as  the  point  of 
greatest  danger.     The  Duchess  of 
JBecri  was  arrested  and  the   civil 
war  extinguished.     Then   tho  Go- 
vernment, by  a  bold  stroke,  seized 
tho  citadel  of   Antwerp,   and  as- 
sured the  tranquillity  of  Belgium. 
The  session  opened,   and  on    the 
strength  of  these  two  acts  the  Mi- 
nistry of  October    ij    obtained   a 
large  mc^ority  in  the.  Chambers. 
.    M.  Thiers,  disgusted,  it  is  said, 
by  the  police  business  attached  to 
the  Ministry  of  the   Interior,  exi- 
changed  it  for  the  portfolio  of  Gom- 
jDaeroe  and  Public  Works.  Ho  began 
in  his  new  post  by  asking  for  a 
credit  of  .100  millions  of  francs  to 
carry  out   great  works  of  public 
utility.     The  credit  was  granted; 
the  statue  of  Napoleon  was  replaced 
on  its  column,  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
de    r£itoile    was    completed,    the 
works  at  the  Madeleine  were  ac- 
tively prosecuted,  the  palace  of  the 
Quai  d'Orsay  was  raised,  the  roads 
were  put  into  repair,   the  canals 
cleared,  thousands  of  workmen  were 
employed,  and  Industry  began  to 
raise  her  head. 

The  storm,  however,  soon  ga- 
thered again*  In  the  beginning  of 
1834 .  signs,  of  violent  agitation  by 
the  Republican  party  induced  the 
Government  to  bring  forward  the 
law  against  associations.    M.  Thiers 

H  2 


A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers. 


gave  li  his  sirenuous. support,  not 
meivly  as  a  temporary  expedi- 
ent, but  as  n  permanent  principle 
for  the  bi^nefit  of  public  order  and 
safety.  Being  considered  the  most 
active  and  energetic  of  the  Minis- 
ters, }m  wfte  Roon  restored  to  his  old 
post  uf  Minister  of  the  Interior.  A 
few  day  a  later  the  insurrection  broke 
out  at  Lyon  iia  ad  at  Paris.  M.  Thiers 
now  had  (jct-'a^oa  to  show  true  phy- 
sical bravery,  for  Captain  Rey  and 
young  Arm  and  de  Vareilles  were 
shot  at  his  b;ide  at  the  barricades, 
by  buUtiLs  aimed  at  the  Minister. 
The  insatTei:tion  was  quelled.  When 
the  trials  uanitj  on,  M.  Thiers,  at  the 
council  board,  opposed  the  interposi- 
tion of  the  Chamber  of  Peers  as  inop- 
portune and  mischievous,  but  con- 
sented to  bow  to  the  decision  of  the 
majority*  Soon  grave  discussions 
arose  in  tbo  Cabinet  of  October  ii. 
Mars  hal  S  on  1 1  and  M.Thiers descend- 
ed  to  ffross  pei'sonalities,  and  fell  to 
disp  utin  gins  tt^ad  of  discussing.  The 
old  hem  of  Toulouse  ended  by  ap- 
plying a  coarse  epithet  to  his  young 
colleague,  nuich  to  the  gratification 
of  the  lattei',  and  the  Marshal  re- 
tired. Marshal  Gerard  was  called 
upon  to  take  his  place,  but,  finding 
himself  m  dii'ect  opposition  to  M. 
Tluors^  oTv  the  amnesty  question,  he 
also  retired.  M.  Thiers,  not  yet 
daring  to  aspii-e  to  the  President- 
ship, and  unable  to  find  a  President, 
sent  in  his  own  resignation. 

Then  followed  the  comedy  of 
the  Bassano  Ministry,  which  lasted 
three  dajH.  At  last  Marshal  Mor- 
licr  dcvnted  Inniself,  and  M.  Thiers 
took  hack  again  the  portfolio  of  the 

WlicD  the  session  of  1835  opened, 
the  amnesty  question  reappeared, 
M.  Thiers  .still  opposing  it  as  before. 
A  few  days  hiter  he  took  part  in  a 
wholly  peaceful  ceremony,  being 
atlmitt^d  a  member  of  the  French 

ilarshal  Mortier  soon  wearied  of 
playing  a   mere    nominal  part  as 

President,  and  resigned.  A  fresh  im- 
hroglio  followed.  M.  Guizot  would 
not  have  M.  Thiers  for  Presi- 
dent. M.  Thiers  would  not  have 
M.  de  Broglie,  and  like  Achilles 
retired  to  his  tent,  but  ended  by 
accepting  M.  de  Broglie.  M.Thiers 
was  at  the  side  of  the  King  when 
Fieschi*s  infernal  machine  exploded 
at  the  fetes  of  July.  Grave  results 
followed  this  unhappy  occurrence. 
The  Chambers  were  called  together. 
New  laws,  brought  forward  in  Sep- 
tember, restrictmg  the  functions  of 
juries  and  the  freedom  of  the  press, 
were  carried  by  a  large  majority ; 
and  these  strong  measures  were 
supported  by  M.  Thiers. 

By  and  by  the  struggle  between 
M.  Thiers  and  M.  Guizot  waxed 
hotter,   and   the   latter  retired  io- 

fsther  with  M.  de  Broglie.  M. 
hiers  then  became  Minister  of  Fo- 
reign Affairs  and  President  of  the 
Council.  Suddenly  matters  became 
serious  in  Spain.  The  question  of 
intervention  was  raised  at  the  coun- 
cil board.  M.  Thiers,  desiring  in- 
tervention, found  himself  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  Crown,  and  acting 
independently  sent  in  his  resigna- 
tion. Then  the  Ministry  of  April  1 5, 
with  Count  Mole  as  President,  was 
formed.  M.  Thiers  during  the  re- 
cess made  a  pleasure  tour  in  Italy, 
and  having  kissed  the  Pope's  toe, 
returned  laden  with  Roman  medals, 
mediaeval  caskets,  and  arguments 
for  the  Left  Centre. 

Presently  the  storm  rose  against 
the  Ministry,  and  about  the  middle 
of  1838  the  Coalition  was  formed. 
Men  of  the  most  opposed  parties 
abjured  their  mutual  resentments, 
and  joined  together  to  fight  side  by 
side  for  the  moment,  but  afterwards 
to  dispute  about  the  victory.  Thus 
the  Ministry  of  the  1 5th  of  April 
fell,  and  for  two  months  dociri- 
naireSf  men  of  the  Right  Centre,  men 
of  the  tierS'parti,  men  of  the  Left 
Centre,  grasped  at  the  Ministerial 
hdton^  and  wasted  their  strength  in 


A  Slcekli  ofM.  Thiers. 


comfaiiiations  which  proved  abortive 
ss  soon  as  thej  were  conceived. 

M.  Thiers,  who  led  the  Coalition, 
became  the  temporary  idol  of  that 
very  Opposition  press  he  had  just 
before  treated  so  badly.  He  was 
aoable  to  form  a  Cabinet  by  himself, 
ftnd  would  not  accept  Marshal  Soult 
as  President  except  on  the  condi- 
tion  of  holding  the  portfolio  of  Fo- 
reign Affairs,  which  his  old  colleague 
of  October  ii  refused  to  grant. 
Pat  forward  as  a  candidate  for  the 
Presidentship,  M.  Thiers  found 
himself  stranded.  The  events  of 
31ay  1 2  soon  solved  the  crisis,  and 
M.  Thiers,  after  sitting  on  the 
Ministerial  bench  for  seven  years, 
found  himself  back  again  in  the 
Opposition,  a  simple  deputy,  with- 
out office,  as  at  the  dawn  of  the 
Revolution,  and  nearer  to  M.  Laffitte 
than  he  had  been  since  Casimir 
Pmer  was  Minister.  But  though 
without  office  he  was  still  the 
most  eloquent  man  after  his  man- 
ner, and  a  centre  of  attraction.  A 
clever  writer*  thus  describes  him  in 
tlie  House  at  this  period : — 

On  entering  the  Chaniber  of  Deputies  on 
a  parliamentary  field  day,  ^e  may  sen  in 
the  tribane  a  little  man  in  a  state  of  violent 
aeitatioD.  His  head  is  only  just  visible 
abore  the  marble  rail  that  tops  the  narrow 
cage  from  nrhence  each  speaker  in  his  tnm 
perorates.  The  fiice  that  belongs  to  that 
head  is  a  rery  plain  one,  and  as  it  were 
huQg  behind  a  hn^e  pair  of  spectacles,  but 
the  featnree  are  lively,  mobile,  expressive, 
and  original.  Now,  while  we  wait  for  the 
wbool-room  buzz  of  the  deputies  to  sub- 
side,  let  OS  look  at  the  shape  of  the  mouth. 
Tlie  lips,  thin,  capricious,  sneering  like 
VoltaireX  are  in  continual  play  with  a 
tDile  that  is  delicate,  sarcastic,  and  in- 
qaisitorial  in  the  extreme.  At  last  the 
H'D&oQiable  House  subsides  into  silence; 
the  orator  begins  to  speak;  listen,  or  if 
your  oiganiaation  is  delicate  and  musical, 
^  ywir  ears  at  first  and  open  them  by 
<i«gPB«,  for  the  voice  yon  will  hear  is  one 
of  those  shrill,  scolding,  stridulous  voices 
that  wuold  make  a  Lablache  faint  or  a 
Kobini  shudder.  It  is  a  dubious,  abnormal, 

epicene-kiad  of  a  voice,  neither  masculine 
nor  feminine,  perhaps  rather  of  the  neuter 
gender,  and  smacks  strongly  of  a  provin- 
cial accent;  and  yet  this  little  man  of  no 
appearance,  no  position,  and  with  such  a 
voice,  is  none  other  than  M.  Thiers,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  men  of  the  day,  one  of 
the  most  powerful  orators  in  the  House. 
That  shrill,  squeaking  voice  utters  words 
which  are  always  hetird  with  favour,  and 
are  often  applauded  with  frantic  enthusiasm. 
From  that  nasal  larynx  flows  out  a  speech 
clear  as  crystal,  rapid  as  thought,  weighty 
and  concise  as  meditation. 

M.  Thiers  did  not,  however,  re- 
main long  out  of  office ;  he  became 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  in  March 
1840,  but  yielded  the  place  to  M. 
Guizot  in  October  of  the  same  year. 
In  1842,  as  chief  of  the  Left  Centre, 
M.  Thiers  supported  in  a  powerful 
speech  the  law  for  excluding  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans.  In  1845  ^^^ 
urged  the  adoption  of  measures  for 
preventing  the  extension  of  the 
order  of  Jesuits  in  France,  and 
they  were  expelled  again  asin  1831. 
During  these  and  the  following 
years  M.  Thiers  was  chiefly  occupied 
in  his  library,  and  contributed  to 
the  press.  In  1847  appeared  an 
article  in  the  Catisiitutionnel,  in 
which  he  declared  that  *  he  was  on 
the  side  of  the  Revolution  and 
would  never  betray  it.'  The  fall  of 
the  Monarchy  was  now  close  at 
hand,  and  on  the  prohibition  of  the 
intended  reform  baiiquet,  February 
21,  1848,  M.  Guizot  being  im- 
peached and  resigning,  the  King 
called  upon  M.  Thiers,  but  he  was 
unable  to  stem  the  revolutionary  tor- 
rent, and  Louis  Philippe  abdicated. 
On  December  10,  1848,  M.  Thiers 
voted  for  Louis  Napoleon  as  Presi- 
dent of  the  French  Republic.  Upon 
the  coup  cTetaty  when  the  Legislative 
Assembly  was  dissolved,  M.  Thiers, 
with  Changamier  and  others,  was 
arrested  ;  he  was  afterwards  con- 
ducted to  Frankfort,  and  remained 
out  of  France  until  August  1852, 

1  Galerie  dea  CanUm^poraina  iUwstrtSt  par  Un  Homme  de  Rien. 

100                                     A  Sketch  of  3f.  Thiers.  [January 

when  it  was  intimated  to  him  that  oration  on   '  the  foreign  policy  of 

he  might  rettirn.     Availing  himself  Prance.' 

of  the  permission  Iio  returned  home,  Of  the  part  M.  Thiers  has  played 

and  oceiipted  hi  in  self  in  his  literary  since  the  fall  of  the  Empire  we  have 

labours.  not  now  to  speak,  our  object  has 

In  1 863  MM.  Thiers,  OUivier  and  been  to  trace  rapidly  his  earlier  life. 

Favre  were  elected  deputies  on  the  His  celebrated  journey  to  the  Euro- 

Oppoaition  eide  of  the  House,  and  pean  Courts,  his  acts  since  he  be- 

M.  Thiers  took  a  very  active  part  came  President  of  Prance,  are  they 

in  the  discussions  on  the  various  not  written  in  the  daily  pages  of  the 

questions  bTOiig^ht  before  the  House,  papers  ? 

and  ia   JS67  he  made  his  famous  S. 




HELD  IN  LONDON  FROM  JULY  3  TO   13,  1872. 


By  TfiB  RiQHT  Hon.   Sir  Walter  Crofton,  C.B. 


N  the  evening  of  July  3,  1872, 
there  assembled  at  the  Middle  • 
Temple  Hall  a  large  and  import- 
sat  gathering  to  hear  the  opening 
address  of  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon, 
the  President  of  the  International 
Prison  Congress. 

Official  and  other  delegates  from 
Austria,  Baden,  Bavaria,  Belgium, 
Brazil,  Chili,  Denmark,  France, 
Germany,  Greece,  Holland,  Italy, 
Mexico,  Norway,  Prussia,  Russia, 
Saxony,  Spain,  Sweden,  Switzer- 
land, Turkey,  and  from  the  United 
States  were  there ;  and  representa- 
tives from  India,  from  our  Colo- 
nies, and  of  the  magistracy  of  the 
United  Kingdom  were  there  also. 

The  idea  of  this  great  and  im- 
portant   Congress  —  the    World's 
Congress,    aa    its    organiser.    Dr. 
Wines,  of  the  United  States,  has 
somewhere   termed   it-— originated 
in  America.       Congress,    approv- 
ing the  proposal,   authorised    the 
President  to  appoint  a    Commis- 
sioner  to    visit    Europe    for    the 
purpose  of  giving  efiect  to  it,  and 
General    Griunt  placed   the   Com* 
mission  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Wines. 
No  person  could  have  executed  that 
very  difficult    commission    better, 
and  very  few  so  well.     His  mission 
to  Tarious  Continental   States  in 
1871  met  with    the  highest,  the 
warmest  support,  the  results  most 
abundantly  illustrating  that    this 
enoonragement  was  not  merely  an 
enconragement  of   words,   but    of 
deeds,  involving  as    it    did    each 
State  in  considerable  trouble  and 
some  expenditure. 

The  proposal  seemed,  indeed,  to 
be  most  iimoly,  for  all  nations,  in  a 
greater  or  lesser  degree,  considered 
their  treatment  of  criminals  to  be 
in  an  incomplete    and    tentative 

state.  Some  were  on  the  eve  of 
erecting  prisons  which  would  be 
governed  in  their  construction  by 
the  prison  system  it  would  be  ad- 
visable to  adopt.  Others  desired 
to  know  whether  a  system  of  pro- 
gressive classification  of  criminals 
could  be  safely  and  advantfi^;eously 
introduced,  and  how  far  it  could  be 
applied  consistently  with  different 

Considering  the  vast  importance 
to  humanity  of  this  great  social 
question,  it  is  well  to  find  the  warm 
and  active  interest  evinced  by  va- 
rious Gk>vemments  with  regard  to 
it — for  it  was  not  always  so. 

In  England  we  need  not  look  back 
far  to  find  the  treatment  of  our 
criminals  erring  through  excessive 
severity  and  brutalising  conduct. 
Under  such  a  system,  if  system  it 
can  be  called,  we  manufactured 
criminals,  and  reaped  the  sure  and 
very  sad  results.  Subsequently, 
with  the  reaction  which  was  the 
inevitable  consequence  of  such  a 
state  of  things,  we  erred,  and  deeply 
erred,  on  the  side  of  excessive  lenity. 
In  either  case  we  worked  without  a 
principle,  dealing  in  a  fragmentary 
manner  with  a  very  gprave  and  com- 
prehensive question.  What  stronger 
testimony  need  be  adduced  to  con- 
firm this  statement  than  the  faot 
that  it  is  only  recently  we  have 
realised  the  necessity  by  legislation 
of  firmly  controlling  the  criminal 
classes,  and  attacking  crime  and 
its  haunts  at  the  root  P 

To  return  to  the  President's  ad- 
dress on  the  evening  of  July  3 — an 
evening  which  will  not  be  very 
easily  forgotten  by  those  present  at 
the  meeting  —  Lord  Carnarvon, 
whose  experience  on  this  subject  as 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  of  the 


On  Frieons. 


House  of  Lords  on  Prison  Disci- 
pline, and  for  many  jears  as  Chair- 
man of  Quarter  Sessions  and  Chair- 
man of  Visiting  Justices  to  the 
Gaols  in  Hampshire,  gives  to  his 
opinion  considerable  weight,  indi- 
cated the  course  which  he  assumed 
the  Congress  would  follow  in  its 
discussions,  and  gave  a  brief  his- 
tory of  the  treatment  of  our  crimi- 
nals in  England. 

He  said — *  I  shall  not  overstate 
my  case  if  I  say  that  here  in  Eng- 
land we  have,  in  spite  of  many  in- 
terruptions, errors,  and  failures  of 
purpose,  entered  inte  a  period  of 
general,  though  gradual,  improve- 

*  Three  measures,  indeed,  of  con- 
siderable magnitude  for  the  repres- 
sion of  crime  have  been  enacted 
during  the  last  eight  years — the 
Penal  Servitude  Act  of  1864,  which 
was  the  result  of  the  Penal  Servi- 
tude Commission  ;  the  Prisons  Act 
of  1865,  which  was  the  result  of 
the  House  of  Lords'  Committee  on 
Prison  Discipline,  of  which  I  had 
the  honour  to  be  Chairman;  and 
the  Habitual  Criminals  Acts  of  1869 
and  1 87 1,  which  were  the  result  of 
the  cessation  of  transportation,  and 
the  gradual  conviction  that  some- 
how means  must  be  found  or  made 
for  dealing  with  a  large  body  of 
profession^  criminals  growing 
every  year  into  more  formidable 
proportions  amidst  all  the  difficul- 
ties of  an  old  and  wealthy  and  arti- 
ficial society.  Certainly  our  prisons 
are  not  now  what  they  were  when 
Howard  first  began  his  task,  nor  do 
they  deserve  the  name  of  palaces, 
as  they  were,  I  think,  once  called 
by  Voltaire.  They  have  passed 
through  the  extremes  of  undue 
harshness  and  undue  leniencv ;  and 
they  are  approaching,  thougn  they 
have  only  in  individual  instances 
reached,  that  middle  and  whole- 
some condition  where  health  and 
life  are  cared  for,  where  all  facili- 
ties for  moral   and   religious   im- 

provement  are  given,  but  where 
labour  is  exacted  from  all,  and 
where  a  disagreeable  sense  of  per- 
sonal restraint  and  real  punishment 
is  brought  home  to  each  offender. 

'Finally,  under  the  Prevention 
of  Crime  Act  of  187 1,  which  em- 
bodied and  amended  the  Habitual 
Criminals  Act  of  1869,  some  im- 
portant  measures  have  been  adopted 
to  weaken,  if  they  have  failed  to 
break  up,  that  large  class  which 
follows  crime  as  a  trade,  and  which 
— ^at  all  times  a  cause  of  trouble 
and  grievous  expense  to  the  com- 
munity— becomes  a  source  of  grave 
danger  in  seasons  of  popular  dis- 
turbance. Re-convictions  for  felony' 
receive  a  heavier  pimishment ;  re- 
ceivers of  stolen  goods  are  brought, 
or  are  intended  to  be  brought, 
under  the  severer  action  of  the 
law  ;  a  registration  of  habitual 
criminals  and  the  use  of  photo- 
graphy have  been  attempted,  though 
T  doubt  whether  in  the  most  effec- 
tual manner.  The  police  are  en- 
abled to  deal  with  previously  con- 
victed offenders  against  whom  there 
is  reasonable  cause  of  suspicion; 
supervision,  formerly  nominal,  has 
been  made  more  real  by  enforcing 
a  monthly  report  of  the  license 
holder  to  the  police;  and  lastly, 
though  this  provision  seems  ca]3able 
of  improvement,  it  is  now  possible 
to  affect  in  some  measure  the  spring- 
head and  supply  of  crime  iteelf  by 
sending  to  industrial  schools  the 
children  of  women  who  have  been 
twice  convicted,  provided  that  they 
are  left  without  visible  means  of 
subsistence,  or  are  without  proper 
guardianship.  These,  doubtless, 
are  improvements,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  they  may  be  carried  yet 

With  reference  to  progressive 
classification,  he  states — '  Such  in- 
ducements to  amendment  may  be 
promoted,  and  their  results  will  be 
best  tested  by  a  well-consideTed 
system  of  classification,  under  which 


0»*  Prisons. 


the  quantity  and  qaality  of  labour 
are  regulated,  and  the  upward  pro- 
gress of  the  prisoner  (who  himself 
becomes  the  arbiter  of  his  own 
fate)  through  each  class  in  succes- 
sion may  he  accelerated  by  industry 
and  good  conduct.  I  believe  that 
there  are  few  natures  upon  which 
the  gradual  substitution  of  lighter 
for  heavier  work,  the  concession  of 
small  privileges  for  good  conduct, 
and,  above  all,  the  sense  that  the 
duration  or  character  of  their  pu- 
nishment depends  in  a  considerable 
measure  upon  themselves  and  their 
own  exertions,  will  not  exercise  a 
wholesome  effect.  But  let  it  always 
be  remembered  that  good  conduct 
means  neither  promises  nor  profes- 
sions of  feeling,  nor  even  a  mere 
passive  compliance  with  prison 
roles;  it  means  actual  industry, 
of  which  some  evidence  can  be  given, 
and,  if  possible,  voluntary  industry 
over  and  above  the  prescribed  task. 
Sach  a  result,  though  hard  to  be 
secured  in  cases  of  short  sentences, 
is  not  impossible.' 

After  describing  the  progressive 
classification  (which  is  governed  by 
*  marks*)  in  the  convict  system, 
the  President  stated  'that  in  smaller 
gaols,  with  short  sentenced  prison- 
ers, privileges  of  an  almost  nominal 
valne  may  be  made  to  have  an  al- 
most equal  effect :  for  men  are  in- 
fiaenced  by  the  wants  and  circum- 
stances of  the  moment,  and  things 
which  in  a  state  of  personal  free- 
dom are  of  small  account,  become 
in  prison  of  the  highest  moment.' 
With  regard  to  the  *  mark  '  system, 
he  said — *I  need  hardly  add  to 
those  who  have  studied  these  ques- 
tions ihat  the  best  and  most  proved 
machinery  for  giving  effect  to  these 
ideas  is  a  scale  of  marks,  which  may 
be  made  as  simple  for  small  as  it 
can  be  brought  to  a  high  degree  of 
elaboration  for  large  prisons.  The 
opposition  to  this  system,  which 
numy  of  us  may  remember  when  it 
was  first  mtroduced  in  Ireland,  and 
afterwards  was  applied  in  England, 

has  now  passed  away;  its  vahie 
is  fully  recognised,  and  it  is  at  last 
understood  that  under  no  method 
can  the  prisoners'  work  be  more 
effectually  measured,  or  the  dili- 
gence and  fairness  of  the  prison 
officers  more  accurately  tested.' 

On  July  4  the  discussions  com- 
menced ;  the  arrangements,  order 
of  papers,  Ac,  having  been,  previ- 
ously settled  by  the  International 

Very  important  and  interesting 
papers  were  read  to  the  Congress, 
and  elicited  some  very  profitable 
discussion.  It  was  a  cause  of  re- 
gret to  many,  and  especially  to  the 
representatives  of  the  English  ma- 
gistracy present,  that  on  several 
subjects  of  considerable  importance 
sufficient  time  was  not  allowed  for 
their  discussion,  or  even  for  the  full 
explanations  which  were  required 
to  remove  much  misapprehension 
of  our  English  practice  which  ap- 
peared to  exist  in  the  minds  of  our 
Continental  and  American  friends. 

This  was  especially  the  case  with 
regard  to  the  subject  of  corporal 
punishment,  introduced  by  M. 
Stevens,  of  Belgium,  and  of  prison 
labour,  by  Mr.  Frederick  Hill. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the 
general  feeling  of  the  Congress  was 
extremely  hostile  both  to  the  in- 
fliction of  corporal  punishment,  and 
to  some  of  the  statutory  require- 
ments of  hard  labour,  viz.  the 
crank,  treadwheel,  and  shot  drill. 
As  indicative  of  this  feeling,  M. 
D' Alinge,  the  delegate  from  Saxony, 
to  whom  the  Congress  was  indebted 
for  much  useful  information,  has 
written  two  letters  to  the  Times 
within  the  last  few  weeks,  stating 
*  that  he  had  been  deeply  pained  by 
what  he  had  witnessed  in  some  de- 
partments of  our  penal  institutions,' 
and  found  it  necessary  to  point  '  to 
the  remaining  old  barbarities  which 
in  our  beautiful  country  still  dis- 
credit the  law^s  of  justice  and  the 
authority  of  punishment.' 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  .discuss- 


On  Prisons, 


ing  tbis  question,  spoke  as  if  these 
were  onr  ordinary  forms  of  punish- 
ment and  of  work,  and  most  charit- 
ably hoped  that  the  necessity  for 
such  treatment  would  no  longer  be 
apparent  to  us  now  we  had  adopted 
compulsory  education.  Bat  how 
stand  the  facts  ? 

Corporal  punishment  is  retained 
as  a  very  exceptional,  and  not  an 
ordinary  form  of  punishment,  and 
is  never  resorted  to  save  in  cases  in 
which  a  most  brutalised  nature  has 
been  evinced  by  the  offender,  and 
then  only  by  magisterial  order, 
which  must  be  supported  by  medi- 
cal approval.  Those  conversant 
witli  the  ordinary  practice  of  visit- 
ing justices  of  gaols,  before  order- 
ing the  infliction  of  corporal  punish- 
ment, will  be  amazed  at  some  of  the 
opinions  expressed  in  the  Congress, 
pleading  for  the  abolition  of  the 
power,  lest  it  should  be  abused. 
With  regard  to  this  subject,  the 
President  said,  *  One  word  more  on 
prison  punishments.  Where  there 
is  an  intractable  disposition,  which 
breaks  out  in  acts  of  insubordina- 
tion and  violence,  the  employment 
of  corporal  punishment  becomes 
sometimes  necessary.  It  is  a  re- 
source to  be  used  sparingly  and 
cautiously,  never  without  medical 
sanction,  and  always  with  discri- 
mination, both  as  to  the  cases  and 
individuals.  But  under  such  con- 
ditions. I  hold  it  to  be  an  invalu- 
able resource.  Within  my  own  ex- 
perience, I  can  scarcely  recall  the 
instance  where  it  has  failed  in  the 
desired  effect,  or  where  there  was 
room  for  the  slightest  doubt  as  to 
the  expediency  of  the  order.* 

There  is  no  person,  whose  opi- 
nion would  be  entitled  to  weight, 
who  would  in  this  country  advocate 
the  indiscriminate  use  of  corporal 
punishment.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  would  be  very  few,  with 
practical  experience,  but  would 
desire  the  retention  of  the  power,  to 
be  applicable  only  to  those  excep- 
tional and  brutalised  natures  which 

are  unfortunately  at  times  found  in 
our  gaols.  It  is  believed,  and 
rightly  believed,  that  the  retention 
of  the  power  prevents,  in  many 
cases,  the  necessity  for  its  exercise. 

It  should  be  clearly  understood 
that  the  punishment's  of  solitude, 
and  privation  of  diet,  have  in  this 
country,  under  medical  authority, 
their  limits,  and  that  we  do  not  ad- 
mit the  use  of  such  punishments  as 
the  shower  bath,  collars,  <&c. 

In  the  course  of  discussion.  Dr. 
Mouat,  who  was  for  many  years 
the  Inspector- General  of  Prisons  in 
Bengal,  pointed  out  that  he  had 
found,  in  several  instances,  the  re- 
tention of  the  power  of  inflicting 
corporal  punishment  had  been  the 
means  of  preventing  murder. 

General  Pilsbury,  of  the  United 
States,  the  able  and  humane  Gover- 
nor of  Albany  Prison,  whose  ex- 
perience of  fifty  years  and  his  own 
estimable  qualities  give  to  his  opi- 
nion considerable  weight,  made  a 
statement  to  the  same  effect ;  and, 
had  time  permitted,  these  opinions 
would  have  been  abundantly  con- 
firmed by  the  magistrates  and 
governors  of  gaols  present  at  the 

Very  much  misapprehension  also 
prevailed  with  regard  to  '  penal 
labour.'  It  seemed  to  be  the  im- 
pression that  it  was  confined  by 
statute  to  the  crank,  shot  drill,  and 
the  treadwheel.  This  is  not  the 
case ;  it  is  optional  with  the  magis- 
tracy to  adopt  these  forms  of  labour, 
or  others  (some  of  which  are  indi- 
cated in  the  statute  1 9th  cl.  28  and 
29  Vic.  cap.  1 26)  calculated  to  secure 
hard  bodily  labour.  Mr.  Hibbert, 
M.P.  for  Oldham,  and  Secretary  of 
the  Local  Government  Board,  nuule 
this  explanation  to  the  Congress, 
and  as  Chairman  of  the  Visiting 
Justices  at  Salford  Borough  Gaol 
showed  that,  although  the  tread- 
wheel  was  used  at  the  commence- 
ment of  sentences  of  hard  labour, 
the  industrial  profits  of  the  gaol 
exceeded  those  of  any  other  county 


On  Pnsontt. 


or  borongh    gaol    in    the  United 

The  fad  being,  that  in  Salford 
Gaol  and  in  seyeral  others,  *  penal 
labonr '  has  been  placed  in  its  proper 
order,  leading  by  good  condnct  to 
*  indnstrial  labour,'  which  is  thereby 
aK^ociated  in  the  mind  of  the  crimi- 
nal with  privilege,  a  very  important 
portion  of  his  training,  when  it  is 
considered  how  necessary  it  is  that 
he  should  learn  to  like  work.  Mem- 
bers of  the  Congress  were  justified 
in  deprecating  the  practice  pursued 
in  many  of  the  gaols  which  they 
had  visited,  in  restricting  the  work 
fo  *  penal  labour,'  such  as  the  tread- 
whet*],  shot  drill,  <fec.  Nothing 
could  be  more  detrimental  to 
amendment,  or  be  more  fatal  to  the 
promotion  of  habits  of  true  industry, 
than  such  an  absence  of  system  and 
motive  power  to  improvement. 

Bnt  we  cannot  accept  such  a 
procedure  as  an  approved  type  of 
prison  treatment  in  this  country. 

In  inviting  the  attention  of  the 
inajrmtracy  to  the  Prisons  Act  1865, 
the  Home  Secretary  pointed  out 
how  industry  and  good  behaviour 
con  Id  be  stimulatiCd  under  good  and 
systematic  arrangements—  showing 
ti»t  progressive  classification,  even 
seven  years  since,  was  expected  to 
be  the  result  of  a  course  which  he 
was  enabled  to  suggest,  but  had 
not  power  to  direct.  We  can,  how- 
ever, fortunately  point  to  several 
piols  in  which  the  intention  of  the 
Government  has  been  carried  out. 

In  turning  to  the  convict  esta- 
bliHhments,  which,  from  being  under 
the  sole  control  of  the  Government, 
may  be  considered  as  directly  re- 
ptisenting  its  views  upon  prison 
discipline,  we  find  the  system  based 
upon  progressive  classification,  with 
thertrongest  motive  power  to  amend, 
existing  in  its  different  stages. 

It  will  be  seen,  from  what  has  been 
stated,  that  the  practices  in  some 
gM>l8  which  have  been  complained 
of  by  members  of  the  Congress 
cannot  be  recognised  as  the  prison 

system  of  the  country,  but  as  the 
result  of  the  great  power  given  to 
gaol  authorities  under  the  Prisons 
Act  1865.  We  must  accept  this 
as  a  blot  in  our  procedure,  and 
trust  that,  either  by  an  early  amend- 
ment of  the  statute,  or  by  other  very 
obvious  means,  both  uniformity  of 
treatment  and  progressive  classifi- 
cation will  very  soon  be  made  im- 

But,  in  pleading  guilty  to  this 
blot,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will 
soon  be  removed,  we  have  reason, 
as  a  nation,  to  be  proud  of  the  com- 
prehensive manner  in  which  we  deal 
with  our  criminal  classes  as  a  whole; 
and  it  is  submitted  that  a  due  con- 
sideration of  our  principles  of  pro- 
cedure will  show  that  the  whole 
course  is  tempered  with  humanity, 
whilst  duo  protection  to  the  com- 
munity is  at  the  same  time  afforded. 

The  late  Count  Cavour,  in  a 
minute  on  the  Irish  convict  system, 
recorded  *  that,  in  his  opinion,  it  was 
the  only  efficacious  means  of  dis- 
countenancing vice  and  crime,  by 
encouraging,  through  means  purely 
philanthropic,  the  reform  of  the 
criminal  without,  however,  holding 
from  him  his  punishment.* 

The  treatment  of  our  criminals 
in  this  country,  if  carefully  con- 
sidered as  a  whole,  is  now  entitled 
to  equal  approval. 

We  administer  punishment  as 
being  exemplary,  and,  if  placed  in 
its  proper  order,  as  being  both  de- 
terrent and  reformatory  to  the 
criminal  himself. 

We  offer,  in  our  progressive 
classification,  the  strongest  induce- 
ment to  amend,  and  in  the  process 
we  use  such  motive  powers  as  will 
best  secure  that  end. 

We  do  not  enfeeble  or  crush  the 
will  of  the  criminal  by  lengthened 
isolation,  but  endeavour  so  to  mould, 
and  then  to  co-operate  with  it,  aa 
to  utilise  it  in  a  new  and  a  better 
form  for  the  j^reat  battle  of  life 
which  must  be  fought  on  liberation. 
As  it  is  of  little  use  to  train  him 


On  Prisons, 


for  honest  employment  if  it  is 
closed  against  him,  we  prepare  him 
for  release,  and  by  our  Prisoners 
Aid  Societies,  now  numbering 
thirty-six,  we  further  his  obtain- 
ing employment. 

Reports  were  read  to  the  Con- 
gress by  Mr.  Murray  Browne,  the 
Honorary  Secretary  to  the  Metro- 
politan Discharged  Prisoners  Re- 
lief Committee,  and  by  Mr.  Ranken, 
the  Honorary  Secretary  of  the 
Discharged  Prisoners  Aid  Society 
at  Charing  Cross,  which  deals  spe- 
cially with  those  who  have  been  in 
the  convict  establishments. 

Nothing  could  be  more  satisfac- 
tory than  the  results  shown  by  these 
gentlemen,  and  it  may  be  stated 
that,  in  addition  to  the  aids  already 
mentioned,  there  are  three  female 
refuges  in  connection  with  the 
EngUsh  convict  establishments, 
which  very  materially  assist  in 
placing  the  deserving  in  employ- 
ment, and  Mrs.  Meredith's  Prisoners 
Aid  Society. 

The  Act  25  and  26  Vic.  c.  44 
not  only  sanctions  the  giving  aid 
to  dipcharged  prisoners,  but  renders 
the  formation  of  societies  for  the 
purpose  comparatively 

By  the  legislation  of  recent  years 
we  have  at  last  realised  the  neces- 
sity of  stamping  out  habitual  crime 
as  a  pestilence,  and  so,  under  the 
Habitual  Criminals  Act  of  1869, 
and  the  Prevention  of  Crime  Act 
of  187 1,  the  criminal  now  finds,  on 
his  liberation,  that  the  facilities 
which  formerly  prevailed  for  the 
commission  of  crime  no  longer 
exist ;  he  is  now  convinced  that  he 
cannot  pursue  crime  with  impunity, 
and  that,  if  he  still  persists  in  fol- 
lowing it,  the  vocation  will  be  one 
of  the  utmost  hazard.  The  State 
is  thus  following  up  its  prison 
training  by  protecting  the  criminal 
against  himself,  and  lessening  his 
temptations  by  legislation  so  f^r  as 
is  practicable. 

Registration  of  criminals,,  photo- 
graphy, and  police  supervision  have 
conduced  to  this  end ;  and  those 
only  can  fully  realise  the  advan- 
tages which  have  accrued  there- 
from who  had  opportunities  of  be- 
coming acquainted  with  the  im- 
munity of  the  criminal  classes 
which  until  lately  existed. 

The  public  are  in  very  general 
accord  that  Mr.  Bruce,  the  present 
Home  Secretary,  has  given  us  good 
measures  in  the  statutes  which 
have  been  named,  but  not  many 
are  in  a  position  to  feel  their  full 
value,  and  know  from  how  much 
we  have  been  saved  by  such  timely 

*  Police  supervision'  has  not  Ixjen, 
as  was  anticipated  by  some  persons 
a  few  years  since,  abused ;  it  is  used, 
and  in  the  real  interests  of  the  cri- 
minal as  well  as  of  the  public. 

Concurrently  with  other  infor- 
mation of  great  value  given  to  the 
Congress  by  the  eminent  men  who 
were  present,  we  learnt  with  satis- 
faction that  Germany  had  intro- 
duced a  new  Penal  Code  which  had 
taken  effect  from  January  i,  1872,' 
and  in  it  we  find  that,  analogous  to 
the  system  jof  ticket-of-leave,  the 
Penal  Code  admits  of  a  provisional 
liberation  of  the  convict  on  the  pre- 
sumption that  he  is  a  fit  person  to 
return  to  society — that  prisoners 
sentenced  to  longer  terms  of  im- 
prisonment may  be  provisionally 
set  at  liberty,  if  they  have  con- 
ducted themselves  well  during  three- 
fourths  of  the  term  of  imprison- 
ment, not  being  less  than  one  year. 
We  also  learn  the  pains  taken  by 
the  Government  to  secure  a  careful 
and  considerate  supervision  by  the 
police,  for  the  instructions  declare 
*  the  necessity  which  exists  for  a 
carefal  discrimination  of  the  dif- 
ferent classes  of  criminals,  and  men- 
tion that  frommisguided  supervision 
reformation  becomes  frequently  im- 
possible.*  The  Minister  exhorts  the 

*  Dr.  E.  ZimmennanD.     (Triibner  &  Co.) 


On  Prisons. 


police  •  to  direcfc  all  their  powers  to 
the  fulfilment  of  his  desire,  that 
they  may  not,  by  untimely  and  in- 
considerate exercise  of  supervision, 
throw  any  impediments  in*  the  way 
of  released  prisoners  striving  to 
secure  an  honest  liveliehood.' 

It  most  be  extremely  gratifying 
to  those  who  have  long  advocated  a 
well-regulated  *  police  supervision,' 
to  find  Germany  proceeding  on  tho 
lines  which,  first  laid  down  in  Ire- 
land, have  since  been  followed  with 
snch  advantage  in  Great  Britain. 

There  was  much  interesting  in- 
formation on  the  Belgian  system  of 
prison  discipline  given  to  the  Con- 
gress by  M.  Stevens,  tho  Inspector 
of  Prisons  in  Belgium,  and  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that,  considered 
merely  as  a  system  of  discipline 
within  the  prison,  it  has  several  re- 

Many  experienced  persons  have 
seen  these  prisons,  and  most  highly 
commend  their  appearance  and 
order ;  bnt  it  will  be  observed,  by 
what  has  been  stated,  that  in  our 
treatment  of  criminals  we  aim  at  a 
more  comprehensive  scheme  than 
their  mere  prison  discipline,  and 
that  in  furtherance  of  this  end  we 
desire  not  onl j  to  g^ve  Hiem  correc- 
ti?e  discipline,  *and  to  keep  them 
orderly  and  cleanly,  but,  so  far  as 
may  be  possible,  to  make  their 
treatment  and  tests  of  improvement 
of  a  natural  description. 

We  endeavoar  to  smooth  their 
passage  to  an  honest  life  by  induc- 
ing persons  to  offer  them  employ- 
ment, and  we  trj  to  make  them  fit 
for  it. 

Artificial  treatment  would  in  this 
country  entirely  fail  to  attain  this 
end ;  it  is  undeniable  that  under  it 
prison  offences  might  be  diminished, 
&&d  the  responsibilities  of  manage- 
ment would  assuredly  be  lessened, 
bnt  this  is  only  one  element  in  the 
consideration  of  a  grave  social 
qnestion,  which  we  have  been  called 

upon  to  solve  under  very  consider- 
able difficulties. 

There  were  many  interesting  and 
most  instructive  papers  read  to  the 
Congress  on  the  discipline  and  in- 
dustries of  prisons,  and  reformatory 
and  industrial  schools,  which  have 
just  been  published  in  the  volume 
of  Transactions* 

It  is  certain  that  wo  are  now 
proceeding  on  principles  which  have 
satisfactorily  stood  tho  test  of  in- 
formation collected  in  a  manner 
not  possible  in  any  country  which 
does  not  register  and  supervise  its 
criminals,  and  place  them  under 
disabilities.  It  is  obviously  worse 
than  useless  to  compare  and  draw 
conclusions  from  statistics  collected 
from  different  data,  for  they  would 
entirely  mislead  the  public ;  and 
this  point  is  especially  worthy  of 
the  consideration  of  the  Interna- 
tional Statistical  Committee  ap- 
pointed to  meet  in  Brussels  during 
next  September. 

Under  the  strongest  and  most 
reliable  test  which  has  yet  been  ap- 
plied in  any  country  in  order  ta 
obtain  information  of  liberated 
criminals,  we  find  that,  notwith- 
standing the  increase  of  our  popula- 
tion, and  the  improved  machmery 
for  the  detection  of  offenders,  serious 
crime  has  very  materially  decreased ; 
we  shall  be,  therefore,  wise  in  pro- 
ceeding according  to  the  principles 
which  have  been  laid  down  by  the 
Government,  and  have  been  ap- 
proved by  the  highest  and  most 
experienced  authorities  upon  this 

At  the  same  time,  in  developing 
these  principles,  there  will  be  from 
time  to  time  many  improvements  to* 
make,  the  value  of  which  can  only 
be  shown  by  experience.  Although 
approving  the  general  plan  of  our 
procedure,  it  cannot  by  any  means 
be  asserted  that  our  labour  in 
prisons  is  not  capable  of  improve- 
ment, or  that  our  education  in  these 

'  Transiictions,  International  Penitentiary  Congress*    (Longmans  ^  Co.) 


Oil  Frisoiis, 


establiabments  is  given  in  the  best 
and  most  intelligible  form. 

Progressive  classiBcation  has 
still  to  bo  improved  and  ex- 
tended, and  must  be  made  im- 
perative upon  all  gaol,  authorities. 
B«peatod  re-convictions  with  short 
.  sentences  must  no  longer  be  practi- 
cable. The  childron  of  habitual  cri- 
minals must  be  systematicallj  taken 
from  their  parents  under  cL  14  of  the 
Prevention  of  Crime  Act,  and  placed 
in  industrial  schools.  Public  pro- 
secutors must  be  appointed.  When 
these  and  some  other  matters  iiave 
been  attended  to,  the  framework  of 
principles  laid  down  by  legislation 
and  authority  will  have  been  to 
some  extent  satisfactorily  filled  up. 

The  resolutions  adopted  by  the 
Congress  were  in  brief  these : — 

The  establishment  of  a  progres- 
sive classification  oF  prisoners  in  all 
gaols ;  that  hope  should  be  con- 
stantly sustained  in  the  minds  of 
prisoners  by  a  system  of  rewards 
for  good  conduct  and  industry — 
whether  in  the  shape  of  a  diminu- 
tion of  sentence,  a  participation  in 
eariiings,  a  gradual  .withdrawal  of 
restraint,  or  an  enlargement  of  pri- 

That  all  disciplinary  punishments 
that  inflict  nnuQcessary  pain  or 
humiliation  should,  be  abolished; 
and  the  penalties  should,  so  far  as 
possible,  be  tlio  diminution  of  ordi- 
nary comforts,  the  forfeiture  of 
some  privilege,  or  of  a  part  of 
the  progress  made  towards  li- 
beration. Moral  forces  and  mo- 
tives should,  in  fact,  be  relied  on, 
so  far  as  is  consistent  with  the  due 
maintenance  of  discipline,  and  phy- 
sical  fbrce  should  be  employed  only 
in  the  last  necessity.  The  true 
principle  is  to  place  the  prisoner — 
who  must  be  taught  that  he  has 
sinned  against  society,  and  owes 
reparation — in  a  position  of  stem 
adversity,  from  which  he  must  work 
his  own  way  out  by  his  owu  exer- 

tions. To  impel  a  prisoner  to  this 
self-exertion  should  be  the  aim  of  a 
system  of  prison  discipline  which  can 
never  be  truly  reformatory  unless  it 
succeeds  in  gaining  tho  will  of  the 

That  if  a  sound  system  of  prison 
discipline  be  desirable,  it  is  no  less 
expedient  that  the  prisoner,  on  his 
discharge,  should  be  systematically 
aided  to  obtain  employment,  and  to 
return  permanently  to  the  ranks  of 
honest  and  productive  industry. 
For  this  purjMise  a  more  compre- 
hensive system  than  has  yet  been 
brought  to  bear  seems  to  be  desira- 

Attention  is  also  called  in  the 
Report  to  the  importance  of  pre- 
ventive agencies,  such  a^  industrial 

It  has  been  the  object  of  the 
writer  of  this  paper  to  endeavour, 
so  far  as  space  would  permit,  to 
correct  the  misapprehension  upon 
certain  points  which  prevailed  in 
the  minds  of  many  members  of  the 
International  Prison  Congress ;  ^  and 
to  show  by  extracts  from  the  ad- 
dress of  the  President,  and  by  other 
statements  referring  to  the  subject, 
that  the  prison  system  of  this  coun- 
try, as  approved  by  the  State,  is,  so 
far  as  its  legal  authority  at  present 
extends,  in  accord  with  tlio  resolu- 
tions of  the  Executive  Committefi 
of  the  International  Prison  Con- 
grcss.  But,  at  the  same  time,  in 
consequence  of  the  want  of  power 
of  tho  central  authority  to  direct 
uniformity  of  treatment  in  local 
gaols,  the  principles  approved  and 
acted  on  in  tho  establishments  under 
the  control  of  the  Grovemment  are 
in  some  of  the  county  and  borough 
gaols  in  different  stages  of  develop- 
ment, whilst  in  others,  unfavourably 
commented  on  by  member^  of  the 
Congress,  the^r  development  has, 
unfortunately,  not  even  yet  been 

•  These  points  are  to  be  brought  under  the  consideration  of  the  PriEon  Congress  at 
Baltimore,  U.S.,  on  January  21,  1873,  and  also  before  a  meeting  to  be  convened  early  in 
the  year  at  the  rooms  of  the  Social  Science  Association  in  London. 




THE  ancient  and  pictnresque 
foandation  of  God's  Gift  in 
Dalwich  is  abont  to  nndcrgo  one  of 
those  inevitable  transformations, 
which,  however  well  adapted  to  the 
changed  requirements  of  onr  times, 
can  searoelj  be  regarded  without  a 
faint  regret.  The  publication  of  a 
new  scheme  bjthe  Endowed  Schools 
Commissioners  for  the  reorganisa- 
tion and  future  administration  of 
this  great  charitj  seems  to  furnish 
a  fitting  occasion  for  recalling  at- 
tention to  Edward  Allo3m\s  original 
designs,  to  the  manner  in  which 
they  have  been  practically  realised, 
aod  to  the  nature  of  those  larger 
and  more  ambitious  objects  to  which 
it  is  now  proposed  to  apply  his  be- 
nevolent gift. 

The  period  of  Edward  Alleyn's 
life  covers  the  golden  age  of  our 
national  drama.  Bom  in  1566,  his 
60 years  included  much  of  tlie  life  of 
Spenser,  Sidney,  Dekker,  Webster, 
and  Massinger,  and  nearly  the  whole 
of  that  of  Shakespeare,  Marlowe, 
Bacon,  and  Jonson.  Coveting  no 
name  in  literature,  he  yet  appears  to 
have  been  on  terms  of  honourable 
friendship  with  some  of  the  greatest 
writers  of  his  day,  and  to  have 
done  much  to  redeem  the  profession 
of  a  player  from  the  traditional 
discredit  which  still  clung  to  it, 
even  though  the  performances  of 
hear-wards,  minstrels,  and  players 
of  vain  interludes  were  being  fast 
historic  drama,  and 
hj  a  noble  literature.  Except  Shake- 
speare, AUeyn  is-  the  only  contem* 
porary  actor  who  is  known  to  have 
made  a  fortune  by  the  theatre ; 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  he 
added  field  to  field,  and  sought  after 
newinvestmentS)is  a  striking  proof 
of  the  favour  with  which  the  Eng- 
lish pubhc  welcomed  the  develop- 
ment of  their  national  drama,  and 
rewarded  its  professors*  Besides 
setting  up  almshouses   and  minor 

charities  elsewhere,  he  contrived  to 
purchase,  at  a  cost  of  nearly  9,000/., 
the  manor  of  Dulwich  and  adjacent 
properties,  and  on  it  to  establish  as 
his  most  enduring  monument  his 
College  of  God's  Gift.  He  had  been 
much  impressed  with  a  visit  he  paid 
to  the  foundation  of  Thomas  Sutton 
at  the  Charter-house,  and  desired  to 
emulate  his  deeds.  With  how  much 
care  and  affection  he  set  about  this 
task,  and  framed  the  statutes  for  the 
futuit)  administration  of  the  College ; 
how  thankfully  he  welcomed  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Bacon,  Mr.  Inigo 
Jones,  and  many  other  notables  to 
the  religious  services  and  banquet 
with  which  he-  distinguished  the 
great  day  of  his  life,  that  of  the 
opening  of  the  now  College  in  Sep- 
tember 16 19;  how  calmly  he  and 
his  wife  betook  themselves  for  the 
remnant  of  their  days  to  the  shelter 
of  tho  new  home  they  had  thus 
created  for  others ;  occasionally  re- 
creating themselves,  in  memory  of 
old  times,  with  the  performance  of  a 
play  by  the  boys  of  the  school ;  how 
they  subjected  themselves  to  the 
same  rules  and  lived  the  same  life 
as  -the  recipients  of  their  bounty, 
may  all  be  read  in  the  curious  nar- 
rative which  the  zeal  of  Mr.  Collier 
and  of  the  Shakespeare  Society  has 
pieced  together  from  the  fragment- 
ary documents  preserved  at  Dul- 
wich. '  I  like  well,*  said  the  Lord 
Keeper  Verulam,  *  that  Allen  play eth 
the  last  act  of  his  life  so  well.* 

Yet  to  Bacon's  foresight  and  states- 
manship the  disposition  of  his  pro- 
perty made  by  tho  player,  did  not 
seem  to  be  entirely  wise.  It  was 
natural  that  Alleyn  in  the  evening  of 
his  days  should  picture  to  himself  a 
retreat  which  should  be  a  safe  har- 
bour from  the  cares  of  life,  where, 
to  the  end  of  time,  six  poor  men 
and  six  poor  women,  under  the 
supervision  of  a  master,  warden,  and 
four  fellows,  and  with  the  help  of  a 


Bulwich  College, 


skilful  organist,  should  always  wor- 
ship God  together,  and 

Husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose. 

On  this  the  eleemosynary  part  of 
his  foundation,  he  evidently  be- 
stowed more  thought  than  upon 
the  provision  for  the  education  of 
twelve  boys  in  good  literature, 
whom,  nevertheless,  he  desired  to 
be  added  to  the  little  community. 
To  Bacon,  who  was  officially  cogni- 
sant of  the  proceedings  for  legal- 
ising the  appropriation  of  the  estate 
to  this  purpose,  it  seemed  that  it 
would  bo  well  to  devote  more  to 
education  and  less  to  charity.  There 
was,  he  said,  great  want  of  lecture- 
ships in  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
foundations  of  singular  honour  and 
usefulness,  'whereas  hospitals  a- 
bound,  and  beggars  abound  never  a 
whit  less.' 

Bacon's  eflforts  to  procure  a  more 
favourable  apportionment  of  the 
estate  to  educational  objects  were 
overruled,  but  have  been  abun- 
dantly justified  by  the  subsequent 
history  of  the  foundation.  Expe- 
rience has  shown  that  a  quasi- 
monastic  community  of  old  people, 
separated  from  their  own  friends 
and  relatives,  bound,  it  is  true,  by 
no  vows,  but  subjected  to  religions 
and  other  restraints  which  are  alien 
to  the  habits  of  their  life,  is  one  of 
the  least  happy  and  restful  of  so- 
cieties ;  and  that  the  creation  of 
artificial  substitutes  of  this  kind  for 
true  homes  is  one  of  the  most 
wasteful  and  ineffective  of  all  forms 
of  benevolence.  Moreover,  as  the 
legal  estate  was  vested  in  the 
master,  warden,  and  fellows,  it  has 
happened,  as  years  went  on  and 
the  property  increased,  that  the  full 
advantage  of  the  increase  has  been 
shared  by  these  functionaries,  while 
the  comforts  of  the  almsmen  were 
not  augmented,  and  the  twelve  poor 
boys,  in  wretched  isolation  from  all 
the  influences  by  which  the  life  of 
a  good  school  is  sustained,  were  for 

many  generations  compelled  to  be 
content  with  a  charity-school  educa- 
tion of  the  most  meagre  quality. 

That  AUeyn's  work  was  one  of 
true  and  wise  beneficence  does  not, 
however,  appear  at  the  time  to 
have  been  doubted  by  anyone  bat 
Bacon.  From  grateful  dramatists 
like  Hey  wood,  from  noblemen  like 
the  Earl  of  Arundel,  even  from  a 
clergyman  like  Stephen  Gosson, 
whose  Pleasant  Invective  against 
Flayers,  Jesters,  and  svch  like  Cater- 
pillars  of  a  Commmiwealth,  had 
been  published  shortly  before,  there 
came  a  cordial  recognition  of  the 
player's  goodness,  or  oflTers  of  aid 
and  co-operation. 

On  the  other  hand,  Alleyn,  of 
course,  could  not  escape  calumny. 
There  were  those  who  described  him 
as  having  been  frightened  by  an  ap- 
parition of  the  Devil,  while  playing 
Marlowe's  Faustus,  and  so  driven 
by  remorse  for  his  share  in  a  de- 
moralising pursuit  into  acts  of  re- 
stitution and  atonement.  Others, 
such  as  the  anonymous  author  of 
the  Return  to  Parnassus,  ascribed 
his  doings  to  vulgar  ostentation — 

England  affords  these  glorioiis  vagabonds. 
That  carried  erst  their  fardels  on  their 

Coursers  to  ride  on  through   the  gazing 

Sweeping  it  in  their  glowing  satin  suits. 
And  pages  to  attend  their  masterships  ; 
With  mouthing  words  that  better  wits  hare 

They  purchase  lands,  and  new  esquires  are 


Even  Fuller,  though  finding  a  place 
half  a  century  later  for  old  Alleyn 
among  his  Worthies  of  England, 
could  not  re&ain  from  a  (Juiet  sar- 
casm as  to  the  tainted  source  from 
which  the  wealth  had  been  de- 
rived. *  He  got  a  very  great  estate, 
and  in  his  old  age,  following  Christ's 
counsel  (on  what  forcible  notice 
it  belongs  not  me  to  enquire),  he 
made  friends  of  the  unrighteous 
mammon,  bxdlding  therewith  a  fair 
college  at  Dulwich,  in  Kent^  for  the 


Bvlwich  OoUege. 


relief  of  poor  people.  Some,  I  con- 
ft^  count  ifc  built  on  a  foundered 
foaodation,  seeing,  in  a  spiritual 
8ease,  none  is  good  and  lawful 
money  save  what  is  honestlj  and 
iDdastriouslj  gotten.  But,  per- 
chance, such  who  condemn  Master 
Alleyn  herein  have  as  bad  shillings 
in  the  bottom  of  their  own  bags  if 
search  were  made  therein.*  Alley n 
had  anticipated  this  kind  of  cen- 
>Tire  when,  in  a  manly  letter  to  Sir 
Francis  Calton,  he  had  once  said, 
'  And  when  you  tell  me  of  my  poor 
t)riginal,  and  of  my  quality  as  a 
plajer,  what  is  that?  If  I  am 
richer  than  laj  auncostres,  I  hope 
I  may  be  able  to  do  more  good  with 
my  nches  than  ever  youi  aunccs- 
tres  did  with  theirs.  That  I  was  a 
plaver  I  cannot  deny,  and  I  am 
6Qre  I  will  not.  My  means  of  living 
were  honest,  and  with  the  poor 
abilities  wherewith  God  blessed 
me  I  was  able  to  do  something 
for  myself,  my  relatives,  and  my 
fiiends.  Therefore  am  1  not 

That  AUeyn's  benevolent  visions 
Lave  been  very  imperfectly  realised 
yf\\\  sarprise  no  one  who  has  studied 
with  any  care  the  history  of  chari- 
table foundations  in  England.  He 
made  no  provision  for  the  applica- 
tion of  the  increased  revenue  to 
rew  objects  of  usefulness,  and  none 
for  its  adaptation  to  the  changed 
wants  and  circumstances  of  a^er 
generations.  Accordingly,  while 
the  letter  of  his  instructions  was, 
after  a  sort,  observed,  their  spirit 
ha:4  long  since  evaporated.  Until 
within  the  last  twenty  years,  Dul- 
wit'h  was  chiefly  remarkable  as  a 
pictaresque  and  rural  oasis  in  the 
midst  of  a  large  southern  suburb, 
otherwise  given  over  to  enterprising 
liuilders.  By  later  bequests  of  Sir 
Francis  Bourgeois  and  Marguerite 
Desenfans.  tlie  College  had  also  be- 
come possessed  of  a  small  collection 
of  pictures  containing  a  few  master- 
pieces, which  often  attracted  lovers 
of  art  to  visit  the  place.     But  for 


the  rest,  Alleyn's  hospital  ytbs  a 
mere  nest  of  sinecurists,  in  close 
connection  with  a  joyless  alms- 
house and  a  feeble  and  inefficient 
charity  school. 

The  Act  of  Parliament  passed  in 
1857  for  remodelling  the  entire 
foundation  was  a  somewhat  sweep- 
ing and  revolutionary  measure,  and 
has  effected  considerable  results. 
It  provided  that  the  eleemosynary 
branch  of  the  charity  should  be  en- 
titled to  one- fourth  of  the  nett  in- 
come, and  that  the  residue  should 
be  devoted  to  education.  It  consti- 
tuted an  entirely  new  governitii^ 
body,  composed  for  the  most  part 
of  nominees  of  the  Court  of  Chan- 
cery. To  this  body  was  entrusted 
the  power  to  develop  the  financial 
resources  of  the  estate,  and  to  raise 
money  sufficient  for  the  erection  of 
new  and  splendid  school -buildings. 
There  was  to  be  an  upper  and  a 
lower  school,  mainly  designed  for 
day  pupils,  but  providing  also  for 
the  clothing  and  maintenance  of 
twenty- four  foundation  scholars,  to 
be  selected  preferentially  from  the 
inhabitants  of  the  four  London  pa- 
rishes— St.  Botolph,  Bishopsgate  ; 
St.  Luke's ;  St.  Saviour's,  Soutb- 
wark ;  and  St.  Giles's,  Camber- 
well — named  by  Alleyn  in  his  will. 
Ample  provision  was  also  made 
both  for  exhibitions  tenable  in  the 
school  itself,  and  for  scholarships 
enabling  scholars  of  merit  to  pro- 
ceed from  it  to  the  University. 

Before  these  arrangements  had 
been  completed,  the  Schools  In- 
quiry Commission  of  1865  investi- 
gated the  charity,  and  made  it  tlie 
subject  of  a  special  report.  Mr. 
Fearon  visited  the  two  schools,  while 
they  were  yet  carried  on  in  the  old 
premises,  and  reported  that  there 
were  in  all  220  scholars,  of  whom 
130  were  in  the  upper  school.  The 
educational  system  prescribed  Ity 
the  scheme  was  then  undeveloped  ; 
but  since  the  opening  of  the  now 
and  magnificent  premises,  the  num- 
ber has   nearly  trebled;   and  the 



Didwich  College^ 


school  has  rapidly  ailvanced  in 
reputation  and  nsefalness.  It 
might  well  appear  that  a  legislative 
ser.tlement  so  recent  onght  to  re- 
main for  a  generation  or  two,  at 
least,  nndisturbed  ;  and  the  Schools 
Inqairy  Commissioners,  in  their 
report,  approached  the  subject  with 
manifest  hesitation,  and  were 
diffident  in  recommending  farther 
changes.  Nevertheless  they  pointed 
outf^ome  defects  in  theconstitation 
of  the  school,  explained  that  the 
area  of  its  action  might  still  be 
beneficially  widened,  and  hinted 
that  80  rich  an  educational  charity 
ongbt  to  do  something  for  the  in- 
struction of  girls  as  well  as  boys. 
They  added  that  in  any  general  re- 
construction of  endowed  schools,  in 
the  light  of  the  experience  which 
they  had  collected,  Dulwich  con  Id 
not  be  omitted  without  some  in- 
justice to  other  institutions,and  some 
sacrifice  of  the  educational  interests 
of  the  community.  Accordingly, 
when  the  Endowed  Schools  Act  of 
1869  was  passed,  and  seven  great 
public  schools  were  omitted  from 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  new  Com- 
mission, on  the  ground  that  they 
had  recently  been  the  subjects  of 
special  legislation,  no  such  ex- 
emption was  made  in  favour  of 
Dulwich,  which  is  therefore  clearly 
within  the  purview  of  the  Act. 

In  these  circumstance:^,  it  appears 
that  the  Endowed  Schools  Com- 
missioners have  excogitated  a 
scheme  for  the  future  management 
of  the  institution,  and  have  recently 
published  it.  They  found  the  Col- 
lege with  sumptuous  buildings, 
erected  at  a  cost  of  6o,oooZ.,  and  with 
an  almost  unencumbered  revenue  of 
i8,oooZ.  a  year.  They  were  bound 
to  look  with  fresh  eyes  on  the 
capabilities  of  so  rich  a  foundation, 
and  to  co-ordinate  it  and  its  work 
with  other  institutions,  which, 
under  the  Act  of  Parliament,  wei  e 
being  subjected  to  revision  and 

We  conceive  that  there  were  three 

leading  objects  which  the  framers 
of  any  soheme  designed  to  disturb 
the  settlement  of  1857  should  have 
kept  in  view:  (i)  The  mainte- 
nance and  development  in  the 
fullest  efficiency  of  the  great  school 
at  Dulwich ;  (2}  The  extension  of 
the  area  of  the  charity  to  limits  co- 
extensive with  the  vastly  increased 
resources  of  the  foundation,  and 
especially  to  the  London  parishes 
named  by  the  founder ;  and  (3)  the 
application  of  some  substantial 
portion  of  the  educational  advan- 
tages of  the  charity  to  girls.  It 
may  be  useful  to  enquire  how  far 
each  of  these  purposes  is  served  by 
the  provisions  of  the  recently  pub- 
lished scheme. 

With  regard  to  the  eleemosynary 
branch  of  the  foundation,  the  pro- 
posed   settlement   proceeds   much 
farther  in  the  direction  of  Bacon *s 
advice  than  any  previous  arrange- 
ment.     Whereas  the  Act  of  1857 
assigned  one-fourth  of  the  nett  in- 
come to  the  Hospital,  the  present    ' 
scheme  charges  the  estate,  once  for    I 
all,  with  the  annual  sum  of  i,5oo2.,    | 
less  than  a  tithe  of  the  whole  reve- 
niie ;   and  further  provides  that  it    ' 
shall  be  in  the  power  of  the  gover-    I 
nors,  with  the  consent  of  the  vestrj    | 
of   any    one    of    the     baneficiarj 
parishes,  to  apply  a  portion  of  this 
sum  to  the  establishment  of  ezhibi-    I 
tions  tenable  by  the  children  of  the    | 
public  element aiy  schools  of  tho^  J 
parishes,  and  designed  to  encourage 
their  advancement  in  education. 

A  more  important  part  of  the 
soheme  provides  for  the  future 
maintonance  and  organisation  of 
the  great  school  at  Dulwich,  so 
recently  erected,  and  splendidly 
equipped  with  educational  appli- 
ances. It  is  proposed  that  thi.^ 
school  shall  consist  of  three  depart* 
ments — a  junior  for  boys  under  13 
years  of  age,  and  two  branches  of  the 
upper  school,  the  modem  and  the 
classical  departments  respectively. 
The  arrangements  contemplate 
about  250  scholars  in  each.     The 


Butwich  OMege. 


fees  and  oonrd^  oT'insirizeticm  are 
those  proper  to  a  first-grade  school. 
The  annual  sam  of  i,8qo2.  is  per- 
manently set  apart  for  the  mainten- 
ance of  the  establishment.  It  .is 
farther  provided,  that  the  head 
master  of  the  College  shall  have  the 
sapervision  cf  the  janior  department 
tod  of  one  only  of  the  two  upper 
departments ;  the  other  high  master 
having  a  co-ordinate  and  indepen- 
deut  aathority  in  his  own  depart- 

In  order  to  judge  of  the  wisdom 
of  these  provisions,  it  is  well  to 
recollect  that  Dulwich  is  the  only 
public  institution  in  the  South  of 
London  capable  of  taking  rank  as 
a  school  of  the  first  grade,  and  of 
sopplying  to  the  enormous  popula- 
tion of  thiat  district  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, adapted,  like  that  of  Harrow, 
Clifton,  or  Cheltenham,  to  prepare 
pupils  for  the  Universitie.^  or  for 
toe  higher  professions.  It  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  that  the  ideal 
of  instruction  presented  in  an  insti- 
tatioQ  which  will,  in  the  main,  be 
filled  with  the  sons  of  the  professiriDal 
men  and  prosperous  merchants  of 
L}ndon,  should  be  noble  and  well 
SQ-^tained.  And  to  this  end,  it  is 
essential  that  masters  of  the  highest 
repute  should  be  attracted,  and  in- 
duced to  remain  in  their  posts.  In 
most  schools  of  the  first  grade, 
hoarders  are  admitted  ;  and  the 
profits  ou  boarding  make  up  a  sub- 
Htantial  part  of  the  masters'  salaries. 
Butfince  Dulwich  is  to  be  a  day 
school  solely,  this  source  of  reve- 
nue is  absent,  an  d  nothing  but  a 
high  and  liberal  scale  of  payment 
Will,  in  the  long  run,  enable  tho 
school  to  retain  the  services  of  the 
tLb'teat  men.  We  do  not  say  that 
thesomof  i,3oo2.  from  endowment, 
in  addition  to  a  considerable  reve- 
nue from  fees,  is  at  present  in- 
sufficient to  do  this.  But  the  mere 
maiutenanee  of  so  large  a  fabric, 
and  the  payment  of  rates  and  taxes, 
will  abeoib  more  than  half  of 
this  sum ;  and  in  the  prospect  of  a 

change  in  the  yalue  of  money,  we 
greatly  doubt  whether  such  a  per- 
manent charge  will  suffice  for  the 
future  preservation  of  the  school  ia 
the  higuest  efficiency,  and  for  a 
liberal  system  of  exhibitions  and 

The  proposed  division  of  labour 
between  the  two  head  masters  ap- 
pears to  be  open  to  still  graver 
objection.  All  the  experience)  and 
testimony  collected  by  the  Schools 
Inquiry  Commissioners  concurred 
in  showing  the  importance  of  unity 
and  concentration  in  the  work  of 
a  school.  That  the  head  master 
should  be  entrusted  with  ample 
powers  -of  administration,  that  he 
should  be  supreme  over  the  disci- 
pline, and  empowered  to  choose  and 
to  dismiss  his  assistants,  in  short 
that  the  integrity  and  collective  life 
of  a  great  school  can  only  be  sus- 
tained by  placing  the  whole  under  . 
one  ruler,  who  shall  economise  all 
its  resources,  and  make  its  partn  fit 
each  other,  are  conclusions  set  forth 
with  much  emphasis  throughout 
the  report.  Eton  and  Harrow, 
R>ig^7«  Marlborough,  a  ad  Clifton, 
are  as  large  as  Dulwich;  bub  no 
one  who  knows  those  institutions 
can  fail  to  see  how  great  is  the  ad- 
vantage derived  from  the  supre- 
macy of  the  single  head.  The  rea- 
sons for  the  novel  and  apparently 
hazardous  experiment  proposed  in 
Dulwich  are  not  set  forth  in  the 
Commiasioners*  scheme,  but  are 
presumably  based  on  the  magnitude 
of  the  school,  the  necessity  of 
giving  full  scope  for  the  develop- 
ment of  a  modem  department — so 
often  placed  by  head  masters  in  a 
position  of  inferiority— -and  the  con- 
sideration that  a  large  day-school 
exists  for  instruction  mainly,  and 
is  therefore  less  in  need  of  special 
contrivances  to  secure  its  brganio 
unity  and  social  life  than  a  foun- 
dation chiefiy  designed  to  furnish  a 
home  for  boarders.  It  may  well 
be  doubted,  however,  whether  auy 
such  considerations  ought  io  out- 



Ihdmck  College, 


weigh  that  ^f  the  grave  practical 
inconvemence  and  risk  attendant 
on  a  divided  government. 

As  to  the  diffusion  of  the  benefits 
of  the  charity  over  a  wider  area, 
the  scheme  is  nnquestionably  drawn 
in  a  coarageons  and  liberal  spirit. 
It  provides  that  a  second  school,  to 
be  called  AIleyn*s  Middle  School, 
shall  be  erected  in  the  neighbonr- 
hood,  and  adapted  for  the  reception 
of  300  boys  and  300  girls.  The 
coarse  of  instruction  seems  to  cor- 
respond nearly  to  that  known  as 
the  Second  Grade,  and  the  fees  are 
to  be  fixed  somewhere  within  the 
limits  of  6Z.  and  1 2^.  a  year.  A  capi- 
tal sum  of  20,000/.  is  provided  for 
the  erection  of  such  schools,  and 
besides  this  each  of  the  four  Lon- 
don parishes  already  named  is  to 
be  provided,  at  a  cost  not  exceeding 
10,000/.,  with  large  schools  for  300 
boys  and  200  girls.  These  are  to 
take  rank  as  schools  of  the  third 
grade,  but  distinctly  above  the 
elementary  schools  aided  by  the 
State,  and  to  g^ve  ordinary  English 
teaching,  with  the  elements  of  Latin 
or  French,  and  of  science,  adapted 
to  scholars  who  are  not  likely  to 
remain  under  instruction  later  than 
their  fifteenth  year.  In  all  these 
schools  provision  is  made  for  scho- 
larships and  other  encouragements 
to  merit.  And  the  total  number  of 
scholars  who  will  thus  be  supplied 
with  the  means  of  secondary  in- 
struction on  different  parts  of  Al- 
leyn*s  foundation  will  thus  be  con- 
siderably above  3,000,  viz. :  in  a 
school  of  the  first  grade,  700  or  800 
boys;  in  that  of  the  second,  300 
boys  and  300  girls ;  and  in  those  of 
the  third  grade,  1,200  boys  and  800 

The  enumeration  of  these  figures 
suffices  to  invite  attention  to  an- 
other feature  of  the  scheme,  for 
which,  without  explanation,  it  is 
difficult  to  account.  The  Endowed 
Schools  Act  expressly  enjoins  the 
(Commissioners,  in  framing  schemes 
for  the  reorganisation  of  endow- 

ments, to  extend  their  benefits  as 
far  as  possible  to  girls.    The  drafl 
just  issaed  fulfils  this  injunction  so 
far  as  the  lower  secondary  instmc« 
tion  is  concerned ;  but  it  leaves  the 
sisters  of  the  boys  in  the  Grammar 
School,  and  all  girls  who  desire  to 
receive  a  complete  education  of  the 
highest  class,  without  any  aid  from 
Alleyn's  funds.     It  can  hardly  be 
urged  that  there  is  no   need  for 
such  a  provision.     All  experieuce 
in  relation  to  boys'  schools  proves, 
that  unless  the  higher  education  is 
well  cared  for,  the  lower  suffers.  It 
is  the  great  foundation,  manned  b? 
the  most  accomplished  members  of 
the  teacher's  profession,  which  ulti- 
mately determines  the  character  of 
the^  lower  schools,  sets  up  the  true 
standard  for  their  imitation,  stimu- 
lates their  most  promising  scholars, 
and,  above  all,  gives,  from  time  to 
time,   a  supply  of  good  teachers. 
And  the  great  defects  so  often  com- 
plained   of    in    the    education   of 
women  —  its    pretentiousness    and 
shallowness,  the  absence  from  it  of 
real  intellectual  and  scientific  disci- 
pline— can  only  be  corrected  by  the 
existence  of  a  few  places  of  educa- 
tion   to  which   the   best  teachers 
shall  be  attracted,  and  in  which  the 
fullest  and  wisest  course  of  training 
that.cnn  be  devised  shall  become 
accessible  to  girls,  and  made  to  teil 
directly  upon  an  improved  supply  of 
qualified  governesses.     It  is  very 
hopeless  to  attempt  any  substantial 
improvement  in  the  aims  or  methods 
of  feminine  instruction  by  working 
only  at  the  lower  class  of  schools, 
and    leaving    the     provision    for 
women's  education  incomplete  in 
its  higher  departments.     In  Lon- 
don   there    must    bo    many   girls 
and  young  women  who,  either  be- 
cause they  hope  to  take  an  honour- 
able rank  as  teachers,  or  because 
they  simply  aim  at  a  complete  and 
liberal  education  for  its  own  sake, 
would  thankfully  welcome  the  esta- 
blishment of  a  collegiate  school  of 
the  same  character,  mutatis  muian- 


Duhoich  OoUege. 


ditj  u  tlie  great  mstitntion  at  Dal- 
wich.  For  tliem  the  system  of 
lectures  and  detached  classes  which 
is  now  heing  so  careftiUy  developed 
in  different  parts  of  London  is 
wholly  insufficient.  Yonng  men  are 
not  asked  or  expected  to  finish  their 
edacation  in  this  haphazard,  piece- 
meal way.  Nothing  short  of  a  High 
School,  placed  nnder  the  snperin- 
tcndence  of  a  public  and  responsible 
body,  equipped  with  teachers  of 
proved  qnaiificatious,  and  supplied 
nith  a  reasonable  number  of  scho- 
hurships  and  other  encouragements 
to  SQccessful  study,  will  meet  the 
reqnirements    of   the    case.     And 

some  part  of  the  great  revenues  of 
Dulwich  would,  as  it  appears  to 
us,  have  been  usefully  expended 
in  supplying  this  great  want«  and 
in  setting  up  a  noble  ideal  of  cul- 
ture and  finished  education  for  the 
boys  and  girls  of  the  metropolis.  It 
is  not  too  late,  we  trust,  to  reconsider 
this  part  of  a  scheme  which,  in 
its  main  features,  and  especially  in 
its  broad  and  generous  provision 
for  extending  the  public  utility  of 
AUeyn's  munificent  foundation,  well 
deserves  to  be  regarded  as  a  piece 
of  constructive  legislation  of  an  un- 
ambitious but  entirely  practical  and 
serviceable  type. 





Bt  Fbancis  Oalton. 

IT  is  freely  allowed  by  most  au- 
thorities on  heredity,  that  men 
are  jn&t  as  subject  to  its  laws,  both 
in  body  and  mind,  as  are  any  other 
animals,  bat  it  is  almost  univer- 
sally doubted,  if  not  denied,  that 
an  establishment  of  this  fact  could 
ever  be  of  large  practical  benefit  to 
hamauity.  It  is  objected  that,  phi- 
losophise as  you  will,  men  and 
women  will  continue  to  marry  as 
they  have  hitherto  done,  according 
to  their  personal  likings ;  that  any 
prospect  of  improving  tbe  i*ace  of 
man  is  absurd  and  chimerical,  and 
that  though  enquiries  into  the  laws 
of  human  heredity  may  be  pursued 
for  the  satisfaction  of  a  cnrious  dis- 
position, they  can  be  of  no  real 
importance.  In  opposition  to  these 
objections,  I  maintain,  in  the  pre- 
sent essay,  that  it  is  feasible  to 
improve  the  race  of  man  by  a  system 
which  shall  be  perfectly  in  accord- 
ance with  the  moral  sense  of  the 
present  time.  I  shall  first  describe 
the  condition,  such  as  I  believe  it 
to  be,  of  the  existing  race  of  man, 
and  will  afterwards  propose  a 
scheme  for  its  improvement  whose 
seeds  would  be  planted  almost 
without  knowing  it,  and  would 
slowiy  but  steadily  grow,  until  it 
had  transformed  the  nation.  If 
the  ordinary  doctrines  of  heredity 
in  a  bruad  sense  be  true,  the  scheme 
in  qaestiun  must,  as  it  appears  to 
me,  begin  to  show  vigorous  life  so 
soon  as  the  mass  of  educated  men 
shall  have  learnt  to  appreciate  their 
troth.  But  if  the  doctrines  be 
false,  then  all  I  build  upon  them  is 
of  course  fallacious. 

The  bodily  and  mental  condition 
of  every  man  are,  in  part,  the  result 
of  his  own  voluntary  and  bygone 
acts ;  but  experience  teaches  us  that 
they  are  also  sha|)ed  by  two  other 
agencies,  for  neither  of  which  he  is 
responsible ;  the  one,  the  constitu- 

tional peculiarities  transmitted  to 
him  by  inheritance,  and  the  other, 
the  various  circumstances  to  which 
he  has  been  perforce  subjected,  es* 
pecially  in  early  life.  Now,  in  this 
essay  I  do  not  propose  to  allnde  to 
ordinary  education,  family  and  na- 
tional tradition,  and  other  similar 
moral  agencies  of  high  importance. 
I  leave  them  for  the  present,  to  one 
side ;  the  residue  with  which  alone 
I  am  about  to  deal,  may  be  con- 
cisely and  sufficiently  expressed  by 
the  words  *  race '  and  *  nurture.'  It 
is  to  the  consideration  of  the  first 
of  these  that  the  following  pag^ 
are  chiefly  devoted ;  but  not  entirely 
60,  for  I  acknowledge  that  we  cao- 
not  wholly  disentangle  their  several 
effects.  An  improvement  in  the 
nurture  of  a  race  will  eradicate 
inherited  disease;  consequently,  it 
is  beyond  dispute  that  if  our 
future  population  were  reared 
under  more  favourable  conditions 
than  at  present,  both  their  health 
and  that  of  their  descendants  woald 
be  greatly  improved.  There  is  no- 
tliiiig  in  what  I  am  about  to  say 
that  shall  underrate  the  sterliug 
value  of  nurture,  including  all  kinds 
of  sanitary  improvements ;  nay,  I 
wish  to  claim  them  as  powerfnl 
auxiliaries  to  my  cause;  neverth(s 
less,  I  look  npcn  race  as  far  more 
important  than  nurture.  Race  Las 
a  double  eflect,  it  creates  better  and 
more  intelligent  individuals,  and 
these  become  more  competent  than 
their  predecessors  to  make  laws  and 
customs,  whose  effects  shall  favour- 
ably  react  on  their  own  health  and 
on  the  nurture  of  their  children. 
The  merits  and  demerits  of  diflPerent 
laces  is  strongly  marked  in  colonies, 
where  men  begin  a  new  life,  to  a 
great  degree  detached  from  the  in- 
fluences under  which  they  had  been 
reared.  Now  we  may  watch  a 
band  of  Englishmeui  subjected  to 


Ebr$ditanj  ImpfrovemmiU 


BO  regalar  aoihority,  bat  atferacted 
io  sume  new  gold-digging,  and  we 
shall  see  that  law  and  order  will  be 
gradaally  evolved,  and  that  the 
oommanitj  will  pnrify  itself  and 
become  respectable,  and  this  is  trae 
of  hardlj  any  other  race  of  men. 
CoQstitational  stamina,  strength, 
intelligence,  and  moral  qualities 
cling  to  a  breed,  say  of  dogs,  not- 
withstanding many  generations  of 
careless  nurture ;  while  careful  nur- 
ture, Qoaided  by  selection,  can  do 
little  more  to  an  inferior  breed  than 
eradicate  disease  and  make  it  good 
of  its  kind.  Those  who  would  as- 
Eipi  more  importaoce  to  nurture 
than  1  have  done,  mast  concede  that 
the  sanitary  conditions  under  which 
the  mass  of  the  population  will 
hereafter  live,  are  never  likely  to  be 
80  favourable  to  health  as  those 
which  are  now  enjoyed  by  our 
wealthy  classes.  The  latter  may 
make  many  mistakes  in  matters  of 
health';  but  they  have  enormous 
residaal  advantages.  They  can 
command  good  food,  spacious  rooms, 
aod  change  of  air,  which  is  more 
than  equivalent  to  what  the  future 
achievements  of  sanitary  science 
are  likely  to  afford  to  the  mans  of 
the  population.  Yet  how  far  are 
cor  wealthier  classes  from  the  se- 
cnre  possession  of  those  high  phy- 
sical and  mental  qualities  which  are 
the  birthright  of  a  good  race. 
Whoever  has  spent  a  winter  at 
the  health-resorts  of  the  South  of 
¥raDce,  must  have  been  appalled 
at  witnessing  the  number  of  their 
fellow-countrymen  who  are  afflicted 
with  wrptched  constitutions,  while 
that  of  the  sickly  children,  narrow- 
chested  men,  and  fragile,  delicate 
women  who  remain  at  home,  is 
utterly  disproportionate  to  the 
sickly  and  misshapen  contingent  of 
the  stock  of  any  ot  our  breeds  of 
domestic  animals. 

I  need  not  speak  in  detail  of  the 
inany  ways  in  which  the  forms  of 
civilisation,  which  have  hitherto 
prevailed,  tend  to  spoil  a  race,  be- 
canae  they  rnoat^:  by  this  tiniey  have 

become  familiar  to  all  who  are  in-, 
terested  in  heredit^y  ;  it  is  sutficient 
just  to  allude  to  two  of  the  chief 
among  those  which  are  now  in  ac- 
tivity. The  first  is,  the  free  power 
of  bequeathing  wealth,  which  inter- 
feres with  the  salutary  action  of 
natural  selection,  by  pre^servjing 
the  wealthy,  and  by  encom*a<^ing 
marriage  on  grounds  quite  inde- 
pendent of  personal  qualities ;  and 
the  second  is  the  centralising  ten- 
dency of  our  civilisation,  which  at- 
tracts the  abler  men  to  towns,  where 
the  discouragement  to  marry  is 
great,  and  where  marriage  is  com[)a- 
rativelyunproductiveof  descendants 
vrho  reach  adult  life.  In  a  pafjer 
just  communicated  to  the  Statis- 
tical Society,  I  have  carefully 
analysed  and  discussed  the  census 
returns  of  i,ooo  families  of  fiictory 
operatives  in  Coventry,  and  of  the 
same  number  of  agricultural  Uibour- 
ers  in  the  neighbouring  Hmall  rural 
parishes  of  Warwickshire,  and  find 
that  the  former  have  little  more 
than  half  as  many  adult  grand- 
children as  the  latter.  They  have 
fewer  offspnng,  and  of  th«>8e  few  a 
smaller  proportion  reach  udult  life, 
while  the  two  classes  marry  with 
about  equal  frequency  and  a't  about 
the  same  ages.  The  allurements 
and  exigencies  of  a  centralised  civi- 
lisation are  therefore  seriously  pre- 
judicial to  the  better  class  of  the 
human  stock,  which  is  first  attracted 
to  the  towns,  and  there  destroyed  ; 
and  a  system  of  selection  is  ci  CMted 
whose  action  is  exactly  adverse' to 
the  good  of  a  race.  Again,  the 
ordinary  struggle  for  cxiHtence  un- 
der the  bad  sanitary  conditions  of 
our  towns,  seems  to  me  to  spoil,  and 
not  to  improve  our  breed.  Ic  selects 
those  who  are  able  to  withstand  zy- 
motic diseases  and  impure  and  in- 
sufficient food,  but  such  are  not 
necessarily  foremost  in  the  qualities 
which  make  a  nation  great.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  the  classes  of  a  coarser 
organisation  who  seem  to  be,  on  the 
whole,  most  favoured  under  this 
pr^idple  of  selection^  und  wbo  snr*. 


Sereditary  Improvement. 


vive  to  become  the  parents  of  the 
next  generation.  Visitors  to  Ireland 
atter  the  potato  famine  generally 
remarked  that  the  Irish  type  of  face 
seemed  to  have  become  more  pro- 
gnathons,  that  is,  more  like  the 
negro  in  the  protmsion  of  the  lower 
jnw;  the  interpretation  of  which 
was,  that  the  men  who  sarvived  the 
starvation  and  other  deadly  acci- 
dents of  that  horrible  time,  were  more 
generally  of  a  low  and  coarse  organi- 
sation. So  again,  in  every  malari- 
ous coantry,thetravelleris  pained  by 
the  sight  of  the  miserable  individuals 
who  inhabit  it.  These  have  the 
pi*e- eminent  gift  of  being  able  to 
survive  fever,  and  therefore,  by  the 
law  of  economy  of  structare,  are  apt 
to  be  deficient  in  every  quality  less 
useful  to  the  exceptional  circum- 
stances of  their  life.  The  reports  of 
the  health  of  our  factory  towns  dis- 
close a  terrible  proportion  of  bad 
constitutions  and  invalidism  among 
tlie  operatives,  as  shown  by  inter- 
mitting pulse,  curved  spine,  narrow 
ciiests,  and  other  measurable  effects; 
and  at  the  ^ame  time  we  learn  from 
the  census  that  our  population  is 
steadily  becoming  more  urban. 
Twenty  years  ago  the  rural  element 
preponderated;  ten  years  ago  the 
urban  became  equal  to  it ;  and  now 
t  lie  urban  is  in  the  majority.  We 
have  therefore  much  reason  to  be- 
stir ourselves  to  resist  the  serious 
deterioration  which  threatens  our 

I  have  hitherto  addressed  myself 
to  the  purely  physical  qualities  of 
mankind,  on  the  importance  of 
which  it  would  have,  been  diflScult 
to  have  sufficiently  insisted  a  few 
years  ago,  when  there  was  a  pre- 
vailing feeling  that  the  mind  was 
everything  and  the  body  nothing. 
But  a  reaction  has  set  in,  and  it 
has  become  pretty  generally  recog- 
nised that  unlesi^  the  body  be  in 
sound  order,  we  are  not  likely  to  get 
much  healthy  work  or  instinct  out 
of  it.  A  powerful  brain  is  an  excellent 
thing,  but  it  requires  for  its  proper 
maintenance  a  good  pair  of  lungs,  a 

vigorous  heart,  and  especially  a 
strong  stomach,  otherwise  its  out- 
come of  thought  is  likely  to  be  mor- 
bid.  This  being  understood.  I  will 
proceed  to  the  mental  qualities  of 
our  race. 

I  have  written  much  in  my  work 
on  Hereditarff  Genius  about  the 
average  intellect  of  modem  civi- 
lised races  being  unequal  to  cope 
with  the  requirements  of  the  mode 
of  life  which  circumstances  have 
latterly  imposed  upon  them,  and 
much  more  might  be  said  on  the 
same  subject.  The  advance  in 
means  of  communication  has  made 
large  nations  or  federations  a  neces- 
sity, whose  existence  implies  a  vast 
number  of  complicated  interests 
and  nice  adjustments,  which  re- 
quii'e  to  be  treated  in  a  very  intel- 
ligent manner,  or  will  otherwise 
have  to  be  brutally  ordered  by  des- 
potic power.  We  have  latterly 
seen  that  the  best  statesmen  of  our 
day  are  little  capable  of  expressing 
their  meaning  in  intelligible  lan- 
guage, so  that  political  relations  are 
apt  to  become  embroiled  by  mere 
misunderstanding  of  what  is  in- 
tended to  be  conveyed.  In  no  walk 
of  civilised  life  do  the  intellects  of 
men  seem  equal  to  what  is  required 
of  them.  It  is  true  that  Anglo- 
Saxons  are  quite  competent  to 
grapple  with  the  everyday  problems 
of  small  communities,  but  thev 
have  insufficient  ability  for  the  due 
performance  of  the  more  difficult 
duties  of  citizens  of  large  nations. 
Consequently,  the  functions  of  men 
engaged  in  tirades  and  professions 
of  all  kinds  are  adjusted  to  a  dan- 
gerously low  standard,  and  the  poli- 
tical insight  of  the  multitude  goes 
little  deeper  than  the  surface,  and 
is  applied  in  few  directions  except 
those  to  which  their  guides  have 
pointed.  Great  nations,  instead  of 
being  highly  organised  bodies,  are 
little  more  than  agg^gations  of  men 
severally  intent  on  self-advance- 
ment, who  must  be  cemented  into  a 
mass  by  blind  feelings  of  gregari- 
ousness  and  reverence  to  mere  rank, 


BeredHary  Improvement: 


mere  authority,  and  mere  tradition, 
or  tfaej  will  assuredly  fall  asnuder. 
As  regards  the  moral  qualities, 
which  are  closely  interwoven  with 
the  intellectnal,  we  cannot  but  ob- 
iferve  the  considerable  effect  which 
t4je  iDflnence  of  many  generations 
of  ci?ili8ed  life  has  already  exer- 
cised npon  the  race  of  man.  It  has 
already  bred  oat  of  ns  many  of  the 
wild  instincts  of  our  savage  fore- 
fathers, and  has  given  ns  a  stricter 
conscience  and  a  larger  power  of 
self-control  than,  judging  from  the 
analogy  of  modem  savages,  they 
appear  to  have  had.  The  possi- 
bility of  eradicating  instinctive 
wildness,  and  of  introducing  an  in- 
stinctively affectionate  disposition 
into  any  breed  of  animals,  is  clearly 
proved  by  what  has  been  effected 
in  dogs.  The  currish  and  wolfish 
nature  of  sucli  as  may  be  seen 
roaming  at  large  in  the  streets  of 
Kastem  towns,  has  been  largely 
(suppressed  in  that  of  their  tamed 
descendants,  who,  after  many  gene- 
rations of  selection  and  friendly 
treatment,  have  also  acquired  the 
cnrions  innate  love  of  man  to  which 
Mr.  Darwin  drew  attention.  All 
this  gives  hope  for  the  future  of  our 
race,  especially  if  'viriculture'  be 
possible,  notwithstanding  that  our 
present  moral  nature  is  as  unfitted 
for  a  high-toned  civilisation  as  our 
intellectual  nature  is  unfitted  to 
deal  with  a  complex  one.  It  is 
carious  to  observe  the  great  variety 
in  the  morals  of  the  human  race, 
snch  as  have  been  delineated  by 
Theophrastus,  La  Bruyere,  and  the 
phrenologists.  It  seems  to  me  that  ' 
nataral  selection  has  had  no  influ- 
ence in  securing  dominance  to  the 
Doblest  of  them,  because  in  the 
v&nona  tactics  of  the  individual 
^tk  for  Kfe,  any  one  of  these 
qualities  in  excess  may  be  service- 
able to  its  possessor.  But  the  case 
wodM  be  very  different  in  those 
i^^ber  forms  of  civilisation,  vainly 
*ried  as  yet,  of  which  the  notion  of 
?er8onal  property  is  liot  the  foun- 
dadon,  but  which  are,  in  honest 

truth,  republican  and  co-operative^* 
the  good  of  the  community  being 
literally  a  more  vivid  desire  than, 
that  of  self- aggrandisement  or  any 
other  motive  whatever.     This  is  a 
stage  which  the  human  race  is  un- 
doubtedly destined  sooner  or  later 
to  reach,  but  which  the   deficient 
moral  gifls  of  existing  races  render 
them  incapable  of  attaining.     It  is 
the    obvious  course  of  intelligent 
men — and    I    venture    to   say    it 
should  be  their  religious  duty — to 
advance  in   the  direction  whither 
Nature    is   determined  they   shall 
go;    that  is,  towards  the  improve- 
ment of  their  race.     Thither   she  , 
will    assuredly    goad    them    with, 
a  ruthless  arm  if  they  hang  back, 
and    it   is    of   no   avail    to    kick 
against  the  pricks.    We  are  exceed- 
ingly blind  to  the  ultimate  purposes 
for  which  we  have  come  into  life,, 
and  we  know  that  no  small  part  of 
the  intentions  by  which  we    are 
most  apt  to  be  guided,  are  mere 
illusions.      If,    however,    we    look 
around  at  the  course  of  nature,  one 
authoritative  fact  becomes  distinctly 
prominent,  let  us  make  of  it  what, 
we  may.     It  is,  that  the  life  of  the 
individual  is  treated  as  of   abso- 
tutely  no  importance,  while  the  race 
is .  treated    as   everything.  Nature 
being  wholly  careless  of  the  former 
except  as  a  contribntor  to  the  main- 
tenance and  evolution  of  the  latter. 
Myriads  ot  inchoate  lives  are  pro- 
duced in  what,  to  our  best  judg- 
ment, seems  a  wasteful  and  reckless 
manner,  in  order  that  h  few  selected 
specimens  may  survive,  and  be  the 
parents    of   the    next    generation. 
It  is  as  though  individual  lives  were 
of  no  more  consideration  than  are 
the  senseleps  chips  which  fall  from 
the  chisel  of  the  artist  who  is  elabo- 
rating some  ideal  form  out  of  a 
rude  block.     We  are  naturally  apt 
to  think  of  ourselves  and  of  those 
around  us  that,  being  not  senseless 
chips,  but  living  and  suffering  be- 
ings, we  should  be  of  primary  im- 
portance, whereas  itseems  periectly 
clear  that  oar  individual  Hvea  are 


S^TwhtcLfy  I'n9pT&v0ffumi, 


lifctlej  '  more  than  agenta  towards 
attaining  some  great  and  common 
«nd  of  evolation.  We  mast  loyally 
accept  the  facts  as  they  are,  and 
solace  ourselves  With  such  hypo- 
jbhesef)  as  may  seem  most  credible  to 
'  ns.  For  my  part,  I  cling  to  the  idea 
of  a  conscious  solidarity  in  iiatore, 
and  of  its  laborious  advance  under 
many  restrictions,  the  Whole  being 
conscious  of  us  teitiporarily  de- 
taclied  individuals,  bat  we  being 
very  imperfectly  and  darkly  con- 
« scions  of  the  Whole.  Be  this  as. 
it  may,  it  becomes  our  bonnden 
duty  to  conform  our  steps  to  the 
paths  which  we  recognise  to  be  de- 
fined, as  those  in  which  sooner  or 
later  we  have  to  go.  We  must, 
therefore,  try  to  i-ender  our  indi- 
vidual aims  subordinate  to  those 
which  lead  to  the  improvement  of 
the  race.  The  enthusiasm  of  hu- 
manity, strange  as  the  doctrine  may 
sound,  has  to  be  dii*ected  primarily 
to  the  futare  of  oar  race,  and  only 
secondarily  to  the  well-being  of  our 
contemporaries.  The  ants  who, 
when  their  nest  is  disturbed,  hurry 
away  each  with  an  uninteresting 
looking  egg,  picked  up  at  hazard,  not 
even  its  own,  but  not  the  less  pre- 
cious to  it,  have  their  instincts 
curiously  in  accordance  with  the 
real  requirements  of  Nature.  So 
far  as  we  can  interpret  her,  wo  read 
in  the  clearest  letters  that  onr  de- 
sire for  the  improvement  of  our 
race  ought  to  rise  to  the  force  of  a 
passion ;  and  if  others  interpret  Na- 
ture in  the  same  way,  we  may  ex- 
pect that  at  some  future  time,  per- 
haps not  very  remote,  it  may  come 
to  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the 
chief  religious  obligations.  It  is  no 
absurdity  to  expect,  that  it  may 
hereafter  be  preached,  that  while 
helpfulness  to  the  weak,  and  sym- 
pathy with  the  suffering,  is  the 
natural  form  of  outpouring  of  a 
merciful  and  kindly  heart,  yet  that 
the  highest  action  of  all  is  to  pro- 
vide a  vigorous,  national  life,  and 
that  one  practical  and  effective  way 
ai  Which  iiidividoalB  of  feeble  conBti- 

tntion  can  show  mercy  to  their  kind 
is  by  celibacy,  lest  they  should  bring 
beincfs  into  existence  whose  race  is 
predoomed  to  destruction  by  the 
laws  of  nature.  It  may  come  to  be 
avowed  as  a  paramount  duty,  to 
anticipate  the  slow  and  stubborn 
processes  of  natural  selection,  by 
endeavouring  ic  breed  out  feeble 
constitutions,  and  petty  and  ignoble 
instincts,  and  to  breed  in  those 
which  are  vigorous  and  noble  and 

The  precise  problem  I  have  in 
view,  is  not  only  the  restoration  of 
the  aveiage  worth  of  our  race, 
debased  as  it  has  been  from  its 
*  typical  level '  by  those  deleterious 
inflnences  of  modem  civilisation 
to  which  I  have  referred,  but  to 
raise  it  higher  still.  It  has  been 
depressed  by  those  mischievous  in- 
fluences of  artificial  selection  which 
I  have  named,  and  by  many  others 
besides.  Cannot  we,  I  ask  —  and 
I  will  try  to  answer  the  question  in 
the  affirmative  —  introduce  other 
influences  which  shall  counteract 
and  overbear  the  former,  and  elevate 
the  race  above  its  typical  level  at 
least  as  much  as  the  former  had 
depressed  it  ?  J  mean  by  the  phrase 
'typical  level '  the  average  standard 
of  the  race,  such  as  it  would  become 
in  two  or  three  generations  if  lelt 
unpruned  by  artificial  selection,  and 
if  i*eared  under  what  might  be  ac- 
cepted as  fair  conditions  of  nui'tnre 
and  a  moderate  amount  of  healthy, 
natural  selection.  It  is  to  be  recol- 
lected that  individuals  are  not  the 
offspring  of  their  parents  alone,  bat 
also  of  their  ancestry  to  very  re- 
mote degrees,  and  that  although  by 
a  faulty  system  of  civilisation  the 
average  worth  of  a  race  may  be- 
come depressed,  it  has  nevertheless 
an  inherent  ■  ancestral  power  of 
partly  recovering  from  that  depres- 
sion, if  a  chance  be  given  it  of  doin(( 
so.  It  has,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
advantage  of  the  civilised  habita  in- 
grained into  its  nature,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  tnay  rise  above  the 
abfiormai  .  state   €f : :  depreission  to 


Hereditary  Improvement 


wbich  the  evil  inflnenoes  of  the 
artificial  selection  of  oar  modern 
civilisation  have  tempomrilj  re- 
doced  it 

In    my    work     on     Hereditary 
Genius  I  enter«fd    at  considerable 
fength  upon  the   classification    of 
men  in  different  f^^des  of  natural 
abititr,  separated  by  equal  intervals, 
and  showed  how  we  might  estimate 
the  proportionate  numbers  of  men 
in  each  of  them,  by  availing  our- 
selves of  a  law,  whose  traces  are  to 
be  met  with  in  all  the  variable  phe« 
Domena  of  nature.      For  examf>le, 
it  will  be  found  that  we  may  divide 
aoj  body  of  individuals   iuto  four 
eqaal  groups,  of  which  two  shall 
consist   of   mediocrities,    and   the 
other  two  shall  be  alike  but  opposite, 
as  an  object  floating  in  water  is  to 
its  reflection,  the  one  containing  all 
the  grades  above  mediocrity  up  to 
the  highest  and  the  other  all  boiow 
mediocrity  down  to  the  lowest.     I 
do  not  Eay  that  this  law  is  strictly 
applicable  to  nations  where  many 
individuals  are   diseased   in   some 
definite  manner,  because  the  essence 
of  the  law  is,  that  the  gee  oral  con- 
ditions should  be  of  the  same  kind 
throughout.      On  the  other  hand, 
disease  and  health  are  for  the  most 
part  due  to  little  more  than  diflierent 
grades  of  constitutional  vigour  and 
of  sanitary  conditions,  aud,  so  far, 
the  nations  will  fall  strictly  within 
the  range  of  the  law,  which  I  there- 
f(»re  employ  as  a  useful  approxima- 
tion to  the  truth.     My  hope  is,  that 
the  average  standard  of  a  civjlised 
Tace  might  be  raised  to  the  average 
Btandaid  of  the  pick  of  them,  as 
they  now  are,  at  the  rate  of  one  in 
every  four.     It  will  be  clearly  un- 
derstood by  those  familiar  with  the 
law  of  deviation  from  an  average, 
that  the  distribution  of  ability  in  a 
race  80  improved,  would  be  very 
different  to  that  of  the  pick  of  the 
present  race,  though  their  average 
worth  was  the  same.  The>  improved 
fsce  would  have  its  broad  equatorial 
helt  of  mediocrities,  and  its  devia- 
tions npwal^dB    and    downwards^ 

narrowing  to  delicate  cusps;  but 
the  vanishing-point  of  its  basenoha 
would  not  reach  so  low  as  at  pre- 
sent, and  that  of  its  nobleness  would 
reach  higher.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  pick  of  our  present  race  won  Id 
not  be  symmetrically  arranged,  but 
the  worst  of  them  would  be  the 
most  numerous,  and  the  form  of  the 
whole  body,  when  classified,  would 
be  that  of  a  cone  resting  on  its  base, 
whose  sides  curved  upwards  to  a 
sharp  point.  I  find  it  impossible  to 
explain,  without  repeating  what  I 
have  already  written,  in  Hereditary 
G^dtuf  (p.  343),  the  enormous  ad« 
vantages  that  would  follow  the  ele- 
vation of  our  race  through  so  mo- 
derate a  range  as  that  1  have  de- 
scribed. It  chiefly  consists  in  the^ 
sweeping  away  of  a  legion  of  in- 
elfectivfs,  and  in  introducing  in 
very  much  greater  proportions  the 
number  of  men  of  independent  and 
original  thought.  It  is  those  men, 
who  form  the  fine  point  of  the 
upward  cusp,  who  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth,  and  who  make  nations 
what  they  are ;  now  the  section  of 
the  cusp  broadens  as  it  descends, 
therefore  if  the  whole  afiair  be 
pushed  upwards,  so  to  speak,  ever 
60  little,  the  numbers  of  the  men  of 
the  same  absolute  value  become 
very  largely  increased. 

I  will  endeavour  to  give  an  idea 
of  the  result  of  a  selection  at  the 
rate  of  i  in  4  of  the  inferior  speci- 
mens of  a  civilised  race,  and  will 
take  my  example  from  France,  be- 
cause the  quality  of  the  nation  is 
well  ganged  by  that  of  the  annual;^ 
body  of  youthlul  conscripts,  who  are 
caruftilly  examined,  and  whose  cha- 
racteristics are  minutely  classified. 
It  is  better  not  to  take  too  recent  a 
year,  as  some  persons  believe  the 
French  race  to  have  deteriorated  of 
late,  so  I  will  refer  to  1859,  of  which 
I  happen  to  have  the  ComjpUreenidu 
8ur  le  Beci-utement  de  VArmSe  in 
my  library.  Speaking  in  round 
numbers,  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
conscripts  were  examined  in  that 
year,  ai^no  less  than  30  per  oent^ 


Eerediiary  Im^ravemenL 


of  that  number  were  rejected  as 
nn6t  for  the  army.  Six  per  cent, 
■were  too  short,  being  under  the 
puny  regulation  height  of  5  feet 
5  inches,  and  a  large  proportion 
of  these — say  one-half,  or  3  per 
cent. — mnst  be  considered  as  unfit 
citizens  in  other  respects  than  being 
unfitted  for  the  muscular  work  re- 
quired in  the  army.  Not  many 
were  incapacitated  by  accident,  as 
by  blindness  or  deafness  resulting  ^ 
from  injury,  or  by  rupture ;  but  of 
these,  again,  only  a  small  portion 
come  justly  under  that  head.  I  am 
assured  that  if  a  person  has  here- 
ditary predisposition  to  deafness, 
slight  accidents,  such  as  a  blow  on 
the  head,  or  a  bad  cold,  which  would 
be  comparatively  harmless  to  other 
people,  will  frequently  affect  and 
ruin  his  hearing ;  and  the  same  is 
the  case  with  the  eyesight  and  every 
other  function.  'In  addition,  we 
must  recollect  that  many  accidents 
are  the  result  of  stupidity  and 
slowness.  Of  the  injuries  by  the 
effects  of  which  youths  were  un- 
fitted for  th^  army,  I  fpel  sure  that 
less  than  half  should  be  ascribed  to 
pure  accident,  and  that  of  the  30  per 
cent,  who  were  rejected  for  all  causes, 
not  more  than  3  per  cent,  should  be 
allowed  as  coming  under  that  head. 
Adding  this  to  what  we  have  al- 
ready excepted  out  of  those  who 
were  considered  too   short,   there 

remain  24  per  cent,  who  were  dis- 
eased or  crippled  or  puny.  In 
round  numbers,  one-quarter  of 
the  French  youths  are  naturally 
and  hereditarily  unfitted  for  active 

I  will  now  turn  to  the  other  end 
of  the  scale  of  ability,  to  see  what 
the  quarter  of  a  nation  is  like  wbo 
are  picked  out  as  the  best,  and  I  do 
not  know  a  better  example  to  cite 
than  one  which  I  recently  wit- 
nessed  with  great  interest ;  it  was 
on  board  the  St.  Vincent  training 
ship  for  seamen  for  the  Royal  Na\7, 
which  is  stationed  at  Portsmouth. 
I  was  informed  that  out  of  every 
three  or  four  applicants  not  more 
than  one  was,  on  the  average,  ac- 
cepted, the  applicants  themselves 
being  in  some  degree  a  selected 
class.  The  result  was,  that  when  I 
stood  among  the  750  boys  wbo 
composed  the  crew,  it  was  clear  to 
me  that  they  were  decidedly  supe- 
rior to  the  mass  of  their  countiy- 
men.  They  showed  their  inborn 
superiority  by  the  heartiness  of 
their  manner,  their  self-respect, 
their  healthy  looks,  their  muscular 
build,  the  interest  they  took  in 
what  was  taught  them,  and  the 
ease  with  which  they  learnt  it.  A 
single  year's  training  turns  them 
out  accomplished  seamen  in  a  large 
number  of  particulars.  I  give  in  a 
foot-r.ote^    the     conditions    which 

If  their  ag«b  between 

Their  height  withoQt  thoes 
most  be  at  leMt 

the  chest  miut  be  at  leaM 

15  and  15J 
15)  and  16 

16  and  16^ 

4  feet  loi  inches 

4  n    "i      ., 

5  „      1    inch 

29  incheB 

30  » 

*  Each  boy  must  bring  a  proper  certificate  of  character  and  decUration  of  age.  The 
age  of  admission  is  between  15  and  i6|.  The  agreement  is  to  serve  in  the  Navy  up  to 
the  age  of  28.  No  boys  are  received  from  reformatories  or  prisons,  nor  if  they  hare 
been  committed  before  a  magriHtrate.    The  other  requirements  are: — 

Thev  must  be  able  to  read  and  write  fairly ;  be  strong,  healthy,  well  grown,  active,  and 
intelligent ;  free  from  all  physical  malformation  ;  never  have  had  fitn,  and  roust  be  able 
to  pass  a  strict  medical  examination  by  the  surgeons  of  the  ship.  Their  teeth  must  be 
good,  that  they  may  be  able  to  bite  biscuit ;  at  the  same  time,  we  must  recollect  that 
bad  teeth  are  to  some  degree  the  sign  of  a  bad  oonstitution.  The  applicants  come  from 
various  directions,  and,  though  a  majority  of  them  do  not  know  the  regulations  for 
admission,  yet,  as  many  of  them  do.  and  as  all  have  to  bring  certificates  of  character,  the 
applicants,  on  the  average,  must  be  considered  to  be  in  some  slight  degree  a  seleeted  class. 


HeredUary  Improveme)^. 


thej  mnsi  falGl  to  be  qualified  for 
admissioii ;  they  seem  to  have  been 
drawn  up  in  an  excellent  spirit,  and 
to  produce  most  happy  results.  If 
the  average  English  youth  of  the 
fatnre  could  be  raised  by  an  im- 
provement in  our  race  to  the  average 
of  those  on  board  the  SL  VinctnU^ 
which  is  no  preposterous  hope, 
England  would  become  far  more 
noble  and  powerful  than  she  now  is. 
The  general  tone  of  feeling,  in 
short,  the  *Mrs.  Grundy,'  of  the 
nation  would  be  elevated,  the  pre- 
sent army  of  iueffectives  which 
clog  progress  would  disappear, 
and  the  deviations  of  individual 
i::ift5  towards  genius  would  be  no 
less  wide  or  numerous  than  they 
now  are;  but  by  starting  from  a 
higher  vantage-ground  they  would 
reach  proportionately  farther. 

It  id  idle  to  lament  the  ill  condi- 
tion of  our  race  without  bestirring 
onreeWes  to  find  a  remedy,  but  it 
requires  some  audacity  to  publicly 
propose  schemes,  because  the  world 
at  large  is  incredulous  of  the  extent 
of  the  ill,  while  most  of  those  who 
are  more  correctly   informed  feel 
little  faith  in  the  feasibility  of  reme- 
dying it.    Nevertheless,  the  subject 
is  one  which  the  public  ought  to  be 
accostomed  to  hear  discussed  with- 
out sarprise  or  prejudice,  and    I 
trast  that  my  own  remarks  will  at- 
tract the  attention  of  some  few  com- 
petent persons  by  whom  they  may 
be  helpfully  criticised.     I  will  de- 
scribe what  I  have  to  propose  from 
the  very  beginning.     It  is  entirely 
based  on  the  assumption  that  the 
ordinary  doctrines  of  heredity  are, 
in  abrcMid  sense,  perfectly  true ;  also 
that  the  popular  mind  will  gradually 
become  impressed  with  a  conviction 
of  their  truth,  owing  to  the  future 
writings  and  observations  of  many 
enquirers ;  and  lastly,  that  we  shall 
come  to  think  it  no  hardheartednesa 
to  favour  the  perpetuation  of  tha 
ftronger,  wiser,   and  more   moral 
nu^,  but  shall  conceive  ourselves 
to  be  carrying  out  the  obvious  in- 
tentions of  Nature,  by  making  our 

social   arrangements  conducive  to 
the  improvement  of  their  race. 

There  is  a  vast  difierence  between^ 
an  intellectual  belief  in  any  subject 
and  a  living  belief  which  becomes 
ingrained,  sometimes  quite  suddenly, 
into  the  character.  I  do  not  ven- 
ture to  ask  that  the  doctrines  of 
heredity  shall  be  popularly  accepted 
in  the  latter  sense,  in  order  that 
the  seeds  of  my  scheme  should  be 
planted,  but  I  am  satisfied  if  they 
shall  come  to  be  believed  in  with 
about  the  same  degree  of  persuasion 
and  as  little  fervour  as  are  those,  at 
the  present  time,  of  sanitary  science. 
That  is  enough  to  enable  the  scheme 
to  take  root  and  to  grow,  but  I  can- 
not expect  it  to  flourish  until  the 
popular  belief  shall  have  waxed  se- 
veral degrees  warmer. 

My  object  is  to  build  up,  by  the 
mere  process  of  extensive  enquiry 
and  publication  of  results,  a  senti- 
ment of  caste  among  those  who  are 
naturally  gifted,  and  to  procure  for 
them,  before  the  system  has  fairly 
taken   root,   such  moderate   social 
favour  and  preference,  no  more  and 
no  less,  as  would  seem  reasonable 
to  those  who  were  justly  informed  of 
the  precise  measure  of  their  import- 
ance to  the  nation.    I  conclude  that 
the  natural  result  of  these  measures 
would  be  to  bind  them  together  by 
a  variety  of  material  and  social  in- 
terest",  and  to  teach  them  faith  in 
their  fntnre,  while  I  trust  to  the 
sentiment  of  caste  to  secure  that 
they  shall  intermarry  among  them- 
'  selves   about  as  strictly  as  is    the 
custom  of  the  nobility  in  Germany. 
My  proposition  certainly  is  not  to 
begin  by  breaking  up  old  feelings  of 
social  status,  but  to  build  up  a  caste 
within  each  of  the  groups  into  which 
rank,  wealth,  and  pursuits  already 
divide  society,  mankind  being  quite 
numerous  enough  to  admit  of  this 
Bub-classi6cation.      There   are  cer- 
tain ingenious  persons  who  exaniine 
the  records  of  unclaimed  dividends 
at    the    Bank    of    England,    and 
search  for  the    heirs    of   the  ori- 
ginal  owners,    and    inform    them 


Merediiary  Improvement. 


(for  a  consideration)  to  their  ad- 
Tantau^e.     Mj  object  is  to  have  the 
English  race  explored,  and    their 
luiw  unknown  wealth  of  hereditary 
gifts  recorded,  and  that  those  who 
possess  sach  a  patrimony  should  be 
told  of  it.     I  leave  it  to  the  natural 
impnlses  by  which    mankind   are 
guided,  to  insure  that  such  wealth 
should  not  continue  to  be  nrglected, 
any  more  than  any  other  possession 
unexpectedly  made  known  to  them. 
Great  fortunes  are  commonly   ob- 
served to  coalesce  through  marriage, 
and  members  of  aristocracies  seldom 
make  alliances  out  of  their  order,  ex- 
cept to  gain  wealth.    Is  it  less  to  be 
expected   that   those  who   become 
aware  that  they  are  endowed  with 
hereditary  gifts,  should  abstain  from 
squandering     their    patrimony    by 
marrying  out  of  their  caste  ?     I  do 
not  for  a  moment  contemplate  co- 
ercion as  to  whom  any  given  person 
should  marry ;  such  an  idea  would 
bo  scouted  now-a-days  almost    as 
much  as  that  of  polygamy,  or  of 
infanticide.     But  it  is  quite  con- 
formable to  the  customs  of  this  cen- 
tury to  employ  social  considerations 
to  eflectwhat  is  desirable,  and  their 
efiicacy  in   this  case   would  be  as 
great    as  is    needful.  >  The    great 
majority  are  sure  to  yield  to  ii,  and 
it  is  a  trifling  matter,  when  we  look 
to  general  results,  if  a  small  per- 
centage refuse  obedience.      I   also 
lay  great  stress  on  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  gifted  caste  to  maiTy 
early,  and  to  live  under  healthy  con- 
ditions, and  this  I  consider  would 
be  effected  in  the  manner  I  shall 
briefly  explain. 

The  reader  will  probably  find 
after  I  have  concluded,  that  the 
questions  chiefly  to  be  discussed  (it 
being  understood  that  my  piimary 
suppositions  are  provisionally  grant- 
ed) are,  first,  whether  the  i»ro- 
posed  means  are  adequate  to  crciato 
a  caste  whose  sentiments  shall 
have  the  character  and  strength 
assigned  to  them;  and  secondly, 
whetter  the  existence  of  such  a 
caste  would  or  would  not  be  in. 

tolerable  to  the  country  at  large,  ai 
the  tim3  when  it  had  become  power- 
ful, but  by  no  means  dominant 

I  propose  as  the  first  step,  and 
the  time  is  nearly  ripe  for  it^  that 
some  society  should  undertake 
three  scientific  services:  the  iirat, 
by  means  of  a  moderate  number 
of  influential  local  agencies,  to  in- 
stitute contlnuofis  enquiries  into 
the  facts  of  human  heredity  ;  the 
second  to  be  a  centre  of  inform^, 
tion  on  heredity  for  breeders  of 
animals  and  plants ;  and  the  third 
to  discuss  and  classify  the  facts 
that  were  collected.  I  look  upon 
the  continuity  of  the  enquiry  as 
very  important,  from  the  extreme 
difficulty  I  have  expeiienced  in  ran- 
sacking bygone  family  details,  even 
of  recent  date.  Biographies  and 
pedigrees  require  contemporancoas 
touching  up,  in  order  that  they  ma/ 
be  full  and  trustworthy,  and  that  an 
adequate  accumulation  of  hereditarj 
facts  may  in  time  be  formed. 

All  this  is  purely  sc  entific  work,  to 
the  performance  of  which  no  reason- 
able  objection  can  possibly  be  made, 
and  is  intended  to  tell  us  in  what 
degree  and  with  what  qualification 
the  ordinary  doctrines  of  hereditj 
apply  to  man.  Difi'erent  persons  maj 
expect  it  to  yield  different  results: 
that  which  I  expect  is,  that  these 
doctrines  will  be  fully  confirmed  in 
a  broad  sense,  and  that  an  immense 
amount  of  supplemental  and  special 
information  will  be  gathered.  It  is 
entirely  on  the  supposition  that 
these  i.opes  will  be  verified,  that 
all  I  have  now  to  say  is  based. 
The  proposed  work  is  a  large  one, 
but  notimpracHcable.  Any  fiimily 
or  any  community  could  undertake 
the  raw  materials  for  itself,  and 
therefore  large  districts,  or  even 
the  entire  nation,  which  is  but  a 
collection  of  such  units,  could 
equally  do  so.  However,  it  would 
require  much  enthusiasm  in  tho 
cause  to  carry  it  steadily  on^  and  to 
discuss  the  results  upon  a  stifficient 
scale,  but  it  need  not  be  isolated 
work.    It  would  naturally  fall  in 


Herediianf  Improvement. 


with  an  andertaking  that  would 
commend  itself  to  manj,  of  obtain- 
in^'  a  more  exact  statistical  iu sight 
into  the  conditioQ  of  the  natioa 
than  we  now  possess,  bj  working 
very  thoronghly  a  moderate  number 
of  typical  districts,  as  samples  of 
oar  enormous  population.  If  en- 
qnirers  existed,  there  are  large  num- 
bers of  statistical  queries  which 
might  be  most  usefully  answered. 
Amoog  others,  we  want  an  exact 
stock-taking  of  our  worth  as  a 
nation,  not  roughly  clubbed  toge- 
tber,  rich  and  poor,  in  one  large 
whole,  bat  judiciously  sorted, 
by  persons  who  have  local  know- 
ledge, into  classes  whose  mode 
of  life  differs.  We  want  to  know 
all  about  their  respeetive  health 
and  strength  and  constitutional 
ri^^nr ;  to  learn  the  amount  of  a 
day*K  work  of  men  in  different  oc- 
cupations; their  intellectual  capa- 
city, so  far  as  it  can  be  tested  at 
schuols;  the  dying  out  of  certain 
classes  of  families,  and  the  rise  of 
others ;  sanitary  questions ;  and 
many  other  allied  facts,  in  order  to 
give  a  correct  idea  of  the  present 
worth  of  our  race,  and  means  of 
comparison  some  years  hence  of  our 
general  progress  or  retrogression. 

I  will  now  suppose  a  few  more 
years  to  hare  passed,  during  which 
time  short  biographies  and  pedi- 
grees, illustrated  by  measurements 
and  photographs,  shall  have  been 
compiled,  of  perhaps  a  thousand  or 
morw  individuals  in  each  of  the  dis- 
tricts under  in  vestigation .  School- 
raaKtera,  ministers,  medical  men, 
employers  of  labour,  and  the  resi^ 
dent  gentry,  will  be  applied  to,  but 
no  blind  zeal  should  be  evoked  that 
might  arouse  prejudice  and  unrea- 
souable  opposition .  The  facts  should 
he  collected  quietly,  and  with  the 
hondfide  object  of  obtaining  scien- 
tifio  data.  If  the  results  prove  to 
be  such  as  I  have  reason  to  expect, 
then,  but  only  then,  will  the  con- 
viction begin  to  ei^tablish  itself  in 
the  popular  mind,  that  the  influence 
of  heredity  is  one  of  extraoixiinary 

importance.  I  ask  for  no  antioi-  ' 
patory  action,  but  merely  to  enquire 
on  a  large  scale,  in  a  persistent 
manner,  and  to  allow  events  to 
follow  in  their  natural  course,  know- 
ing full  well  that  if  observation 
broadly  confirms  the  truth  of  the 
present  doctrines  of  heredity,  quite 
as  many  social  influences  as  are 
necensary  will  become  directed  to 
obtain  the  desired  end. 

I  trust  that  I  have  made  my 
meaning  clear  thus  far,  to  the  efl'eot 
that  I  propose  no  direct  steps  at 
first  beyond  simple  enquiry,  but 
that  the  mere  process  of  carrying 
on  the  enquiries  will  have  an  inci- 
dental influence  in  creating  com- 
mon interests  and  mutual  acquaint- 
ance and  friendships  amon^  the 
gifted  families  in  each  class  of  so- 
ciety, such  eilects  naturallyresulting 
in  frequent  cases  of  intermarriage. 
Then  I  say,  the  offspring  of  these 
intermarriages  will  have  some  mo- 
derate claim  to  purity  of  blood, 
because  their  parents  and  many  of 
their  more  distant  relatives  will  be 
gifted  above  the  average  ;  also,  the 
precise  family  history  of  each  of 
them  will  have  been  preserved,  and 
the  foundation  laid  of  a  future 
*  golden  book'  of  natural  nobility. 
Lastly,  a  mass  of  information  bear- 
ing on  human  heredity  will  have 
been  collected. 

In  the  meantime  (supposing  the 
fundamental  truth  of  all  I  main- 
tain as  regards  the  doctrine  of 
heredity,  and  the  probability  that 
the  improvement  of  the  human  race 
will  be  considered  a  duty)  the  scale 
on  which  enquiries  are  conducted 
will  steadily  grow.  I  should  expect 
that  all  boys  at  school  will  not  only 
be  examine  d  and  classed,  as  at  pre- 
sent, for  their  intellectual  acquire- 
ments, but  will  be  weighed  and 
measured  and  appraised  m  respect 
of  their  natural  gifts,  physical  and 
mental  together,  and  that  enquiries 
will,  as  a  matter  of  course,  be  made 
into  the  genealogies  of  those  among 
tl  em  who  were  hereditarily  remark- 
able, 60  that  all  the  most  promising 


Htreditary  Iviproc&tncat 


individuals  in  a  large  part  of  the 
kingdom  would  be  registered,  each 
in  his  own  local  centre.      A  vast 
deal  of  work  would  be,  no  doubt, 
thrown  away  in  collecting  materials 
about     persons     who     afterwards 
proved  not  to  be    the  parents  of 
gifled  children.      Also  many  would 
be  registered  on  grounds  which  our 
future  knowledge  will    pronounce 
inadequate.      But   gradually,    not- 
withstanding   many    mistakes     at 
first,  much  ridicule  and  misunder- 
standing, and  not  a  little  blind  hos- 
tility, people  will  confess  that  the 
sell  erne    is    very    reasonable,    and 
works  well  of  its  own  accord.     An 
immense  deal  of  investigation  and 
criticism  will  bear  its  proper  fruit, 
and  the  cardinal  rules  for  its  suc- 
cessful procedure  will  become  un- 
derstood and  laid  down.     Sacb,  for 
example,   as    the    physical,   moral, 
and  intellectual   qualifications    for 
entry  on  the  register,  and  especially 
as  to  the  increased  importance  of 
those  which  are  not  isolated,  but 
common  to  many  members  of  the 
same  family.      It  will  bo  necessary 
also    to  have  a  c^ear  idea  of  the 
average  order  of  gifts  to  aim  for, 
in  the  race  of  the  immediate  future, 
bearing  in  mind  that  sudden  and 
ambitious  attempts  are  sure  to  lead 
to  disappointment.     And  again,  the 
degree  of  rigour  of  selection  neces- 
sary among  the  parents   to   insure 
that  their  children  should,  on  the 
average,  inherit  gifts  of  the  order 
aimed  at.      Lastly,  we  should  learn 
particulars  concerning speci  fie  types, 
how  far  they  clash  together  or  are 
mutually  helpful. 

Let  us  now  suppose  an  interme- 
diate  stage  to  be  reached,  between 
that  of  mere  investigation  and  that 
of  an  accepted  system  and  practical 
action,  and  try  to  imagine  what 
would  occur.  The  society  of  which 
I  have  been  speaking,  or  others 
like  it,  would  continually  watch  the 
career  of  the  persons  whose  names 
were  on  their  register,  and  those 
who  had  aroused  so  much  interest 
would  feci  themselves  associates  of 

a  great  guild.      They  would  be  ac- 
customed to  be  treated  with  more 
respect     and     consideration     than 
others  whose  parents  were   origi- 
nally of  the  same  social  rank.   It 
would  be  impertinent  in  anyone  to 
assume  airs  of  patronage  towards 
such  people ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
consideration  shown    them    would 
naturally  tend  to  encourage  their 
self-respect  and  the    feeling   that 
they  had  a  family  name  to  support 
and  to  hand  down  to  their  desceod- 
ants.     Again,  the  society  would  Im 
ever  watchful  and  able  to  befriend 
them.  For  it  would  be  no  slight  help 
to  a  man  to  state,  on   undoubted 
grounds,  that  not  only  is  he  what 
he  appears,  but  that  he  has  latent 
gifts  as  well.     That  he  is  likely  to~ 
have  a  healthy  life,  and  that  Lis 
children  are  very  likely  indeed  to 
prove  better  than  those   of  other 
people.     In  short,  that  he  and  Ins 
family  may  be  expected  to  turn  out 
yet  more  creditably  than  those  igno- 
rant of  his  and  his  wife's  hereditary 
gifts  would  imagine.     This  would 
make  it  more  easy  for  him  than  for 
others  to  obtain  a  settled  homo  and 
employment  in  early  manhood,  and 
to   follow   his    natural  instinct  of 
marrying  young.      It  is   no    new 
thing  that  associations  should  suc- 
cessfully watch  and  befriend  every 
member  of  large  communities,  and 
in  the  present  case  the  kindly  in. 
terests  sure  to  be  evoked  in  dealini^ 
with  really  worthy  and  self-helpfnl 
people  would   be   so  great  thnt  I 
should  expect  charity  of  this  kind 
to  become  exceedingly  popular,  and 
to  occupy  a  large  part  of  the  leisuro 
of  many  people.     It  is  quite  another 
thing  to  patronising  paupers,  and 
doing  what  are  commonly  spoken 
of  as  '  charitable '  actions,  which, 
however  devoted  they  may  be  to  a 
holy  cause,  have  a  notorious  ten- 
dency to  demoralise  the  recipient, 
and  to  increase  the  extent  of  the 
very  evils  which  they  are  intended 
to  cure. 

The  obvious  question  arises.  Would 
not  these  selected  people  become  in- 


Herediiary  Improvement. 


tolerably  priggish  and  sapercilions? 
Also  it  will  be  said,  that  the  demo- 
cratic feeling  is  a  growing  one,  and 
would  be  directly  adverse  to  the 
establishment  of  such  a  favoured 
and  exceptional  class.  My  answer 
is;,  that  the  individuals  in  question 
would  not  at  first  have  so  very  much 
to  be  conceited  about,  and  that, 
later  on,  their  value  would  be  gene- 
rally recognised.  They  would  be 
good  all  round,  in  physique  andmo- 
r.i/e,  rather  than  exceptionally  bril- 
liant, for  many  of  the  geniuses 
would  not  '  pass'  for  physical  qua- 
lities, and  they  would  be  kept  in 
pood  order  by  the  consciousness 
that  any  absurd  airs  on  their  pai*t 
micrht  be  dangerous  to  them.  The 
attitude  of  mind  which  I  should  ex- 
pect to  predominate,  would  be  akin 
to  that  now  held  by  and  towards 
the  possessors  of  ancestral  pro- 
perty, of  moderate  value,  dearly 
cherished,  and  having  duties  at- 
tached. Such  a  person  would  feel 
it  a  point  of  honour  never  to  aUen- 
ate  the  old  place,  and  he  is  gene- 
rally respected  for  his  feeling  and 
liked  on  his  own  account.  So  a 
man  of  good  race  would  feel  that 
marriage  out  of  his  caste  would 
tarnish  his  blood,  and  his  senti- 
ments woidd  be  sympathised  with 
by  all.  As  regards  the  democratic 
feehng,  its  assertion  of  equality  is 
deserving  of  the  highest  admiration 
so  far  as  it  demands  equal  considera- 
tion for  the  feelings  of  all,  just  in 
the  same  way  as  their  rights  are 
equally  maintained  by  the  law.  But 
it  goes  £Eurther  than  this,  for  it  as- 
serts that  men  are  of  equal  value 
as  social  units,  equally  capable  of 
voting,  and  the  rest.  This  feeling 
is  undeniably  wrong  and  cannot 
1^^.  I  therefore  do  not  hesitate  in 
believing  that  if  the  persons  on  the 
r^ter  were  obviously  better  and 
filler  pieces  of  manhood  in  every 
respect  than  other  men,  demo- 
cracy notwithstanding,  their  supe- 
riority would  be  recognised  at  just 
what  it  amounted  to,  without  envy, 

?0L  VII.— HO.  XXXVII.      NEW  SEBIES. 

but  very  possibly  with  some  feeling 
of  hostility  on  the  part  of  beaten 

Let  us  now,  in  our  imagination, 
advance  a  couple  of  generations, 
and  suppose  a  yet  more  distant 
time  to  have  arrived,  when  socie- 
ties shall  have  been  sown  broad- 
cast over  the  land  and  have  become 
firmly  rooted,  and  when  principles 
of  selection  shall  have  been  well 
discussed  and  pretty  generally  es- 
tablished, and  when,  perhaps,  one 
per  cent,  of  the  thirty  millions 
of  British  people,  that  is  300,000 
individuals,  old  and  young,  and 
of  both  sexes,  shall  have  their 
names  inserted  in  the  then  an- 
nually published  registers.  By  this 
time  the  selected  race  will  have 
become  a.  power,  a  considerable 
increase  will  have  taken  place  in 
the  number  of  families  of  really 
good  breed,  for  there  will  be  many 
boys  and  girls,  themselves  above 
mediocrity,  whose  parents,  uncles 
on  both  sides,  four  grand-parents, 
several  of  their  great- uncles  and 
cousins,  and  all  their  eight  great- 
grandparents,  were  persons  con- 
siderably above  the  average  in  every 
respect  that  fits  an  individual  to  be 
a  worthy  citizen  and  a  useful  and 
agreeable  member  of  society.  *!  can- 
not doubt,  that  at  this  period  a 
strong  feeling  of  caste  would  be 
found  developed  in  the  rising  gene- 
ration, for  such  is  the  vanity  of 
men,  especially  in  youth,  that  it  is 
one  of  the  easiest  tasks  in  the  world 
to  persuade  them  that  they  are  in 
some  way  remarkable,  and,  in  the 
supposed  case,  the  persuasion  would 
be  well-nigh  irresistible.  A  number 
of,  perhaps,  the  best  informed  phi- 
losophers in  the  nation,  who  are  ex- 
pert in  the  matter,  solemnly  aver, 
after  careful  enquiry,  that  the  indi- 
viduals whose  names  are  on  the 
register  are,  in  sober  truth,  the 
most  valuable  boys  and  girls,  or 
men  and  women,  to  the  nation. 
They  may  give  them  a  diploma, 
which  would  virtually  be  a  patent 


Herediiary  Improvement 


of  natural  nobOity.  Thej  assure 
them  that  if  they  intermarry  under 
certain  limitations  of  type  and  sub- 
class, which  have  yet  to  be  studied 
and  filmed,  their  children  will  be, 
on  the  whole,  better  in  every  re- 
spect than  the  children  of  other  peo- 
ple— stronger,  healthier,  brighter, 
more  honest  and  more  pleasant. 
They  tell  them  that  in  addition  to 
the  old-established  considerations  of 
rank  and  wealth  there  is  another 
and  a  higher  one,  namely,  of  purity 
of  blood,  and  that  it  would  be  base 
to  ally  themselves  with  inferior 
breeds.  In  corroboration  of  these 
flattering  words,  the  members  of 
the  gifted  caste  would  continue  to 
experience  pleasing  testimony  of  a 
practical  kind,  for  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  one  consequence  of  the 
continual  writing  and  talking  about 
noble  races  of  men,  during  many 
years,  would  be  to  increase  the  ap- 
preciation of  them.  An  entry  on 
the  register  would  then  become  as 
beneficial  as  it  was  a  few  years 
since  to  be  bom  of  a  family  able 
and  willing  to  push  forward  their 
relatives  in  pubHc  life.  Queen 
Elizabeth  gave  ready  promotion  to 
well-made  men,  and  it  is  no  unrea- 
sonable expectation  that  our  future 
landowners  may  feel  great  pride  in 
being  surrounded  by  a  tenantry  of 
magnificent  specimens  of  manhood 
and  womanhood,  mentally  and  phy- 
sically, and  that  they  would  compete 
with  one  another  to  attract  and  lo- 
cate in  their  neighbourhood  a  popu- 
lation of  registered  families. 

I  will  now  suppose  another  not 
improbable  alternative,  namely,  the 
result  of  some  democratic  hosti- 
lity  to  the  favoured  race.  WeU, 
it  would  gain  in  cohesion  by 
persecution.  If  trade  unionism 
chose  to  look  on  them  as  cuckoos 
in  the  national  nest,  they  would 
be  driven  from  the  workshops, 
and  be  powerfully  directed  to  co- 
operative pursuits.  They  would 
certainly  histve  little  inclination  to 
inhabit  towns  where  they  were  out- 
numbered   and    disfavoured,'    and 

would  naturally  settle  in  co-opera- 
tive associations  in  the  country.  In 
other  words,  the  gifted  race  would 
be  urged  into  companionship  by  the 
pressure  of  external  circumstencea, 
no  less  strongly  than,  as  I  have 
shown,  they  would  be  drawn  toge- 
ther by  their  own  mutual  attrac- 
tion, and  would  be  perforce  inha- 
bitants of  healthy  rural  districts, 
and  not  of  unhealthy  towns.  All 
this,  which  is  probable  enough, 
would  have  an  immense  effect  in 
strengthening  the  sentiment  of 
caste,  in  developing  the  best  points 
of  their  race,  and  in  increasing  its 
numbers.  In  these  colonies,  caste 
regulations  would  no  doubt  rise  into 
existence,  and  gradually  acquire  the 
force  almost  of  religious  obligations, 
to  maintain  and  increase  the  charac- 
ter of  their  race,  by  encouraging 
early  marriage  among  their  more 
gifted  descendants,  and  by  dis- 
couraging it  among  the  less  gifted. 
The  colonies  would  become  more 
and  more  independent  as  the  supe- 
riority of  their  members  over  the 
outside  world  became,  in  succes- 
sive generations,  more  pronounced. 
Their  members  would  be  little 
likely  to  associate  intimately  with 
persons  not  of  their  caste,  because 
they  would  succeed  better  by 
themselves  than  when  other  and 
less  effective  men  were  admitted 
into  partnership.  They  would  not 
only  have  peculiarly  high  personal 
gifts  of  intelligence  and  morale  to 
carry  out  co-operativeundertakings, 
but  they  would  also  have  in  many 
cases  special  advantages  as  well. 
K  they  wished  to  found  a  club  for 
mutual  relief  in  sickness,  it  would 
be  foolish  to  allow  strangers  of  a 
loss  healthy  race  to  join  with  them. 
If  it  should  be  a  building  society, 
they  by  themselves  would  be  able 
to  enforce  better  sanitary  regula- 
tions than  if  a  body  of  less  intelli- 
gent and  energetic  families  were 
mixed  up  with  them.  Their  social 
gatherings  would  tend  to  be  exclu- 
sive, because  their  interests  would 
be  different,  and  often   hostile,  to 


Hereditary  Improvement. 


those  of  other  people,  and  their  own 
BKktj  would  be  by  &r  the  more 
coltored  and  pleasant. 

It  will  be  understood  that  the 
colonies  I  am  describing,  would  be 
fau^  enough  for  all  the  varied 
interests  of  life  to  find  place  for 
their  exercise.  Thej  would  be  no 
mere  retreats  from  a  distasteful 
oatside  world,  but  energetic  and 
capable  to  the  higher  degree. 

The  continued  intermarriage  of 
members  of  such  colonies  seems  to 
me  almost  a  certainty,  and  so  does 
the  happiness  which  would  generally 
be  diffiised  among  them.  Here,  if 
ADjwhere,  would  a  whole  population 
hm  to  be  industrious,  like  bees  or 
ants,  for  public  ends  and  not  for 
mdividnal  gain.  If  such  commu- 
nities were  established,  it  would  be 
in  them,  rather  than  anywhere  else, 
where  those  forms  of  new  and  higher 
ciyilisation,  which  must  hereafter 
overspread  the  earth,  would  be  first 
eyolved.  If,  however,  they  should 
he  persecuted  to  an  unreasonable 
extent,  as  so  many  able  sects  have 
already  been,  let  them  take  ship  and 
emigrate  and  become  the  parents  oi^ 
a  new  state,  with  a  glorious  future. 

AU  I  have  thus  far  spoken 
of  would  require  no  endowments, 
and  yet  how  much  could  be  ef- 
fected by  it.  We  may,  however, 
expect  that  endowments  commen- 
surate with  the  greater  items 
of  national  expenditure  would 
nhimately  be  assigned  to  the  main- 
tenance and  improvement  of  the 
best  races  of  man.  Our  peers  enjoy 
a  gross  annual  income  of  some  nine 
millions;  and  that  of  all  other 
settled  property,  irrespective  of 
merit,  would  amount  to  an  enormous 
sum.  It  is  very  possible  hereafter, 
at  the  time  I  have  been  anticipating, 
that  the  Legislature  under  the  grow- 
ing mfluence  of  the  gifted  caste 
(Bnpposing  other  customs  to  remain 
as  thejare  at  present)  would  enforce 
some  limitation  to  inheritance,  in 
cases  where  the  heirs  were  deficient 
in  natural  gifts.  The  fittest  would 
then  have  a  &r  better  chance  of 

survival  than  at  present,  and  civili- 
sation, which  is  now  recklessly  de- 
structive of  high  races,  would,  under 
more  enlightened  leadership,  employ 
its  force  to  maintain  and  improve 
them.  The  gifted  families  would 
be  full  of  life  and  hope,  and  living 
under  more  intelligent  and  fiivour- 
able  sanitary  conditions,  would 
multiply  rapidly,  while  the  non- 
gifted  would  begin  to  decay  out 
of  the  land,  whenever  they  were 
brought  face  to  face  in  competition 
with  them,  just  in  the  same  way 
as  inferior  races  always  disappear 
before  superior  ones.  It  is  difficult 
to  analyse  the  steps  by  which  this 
invanaole  law  has  hitherto  accom- 
plished itself,  and  much  more 
difficult  is  it  to  guess  how  it  would 
be  accomplished  under  the  condi- 
tions here  described,  but  I  should 
expect  it  would  be  effected  with 
little  severity.  I  do  not  see  why 
any  insolence  of  caste  should  pre- 
vent the  gifted  class,  when  they 
had  the  power,  from  treating  their 
compatriots  with  all  kindness,  so 
long  as  they  maintained  celibacy. 
But  if  these  continued  to  procreate 
children,  inferior  in  moraJ,  intel- 
lectual and  physical  qualities,  it  is 
easy  to  believe  the  time  may  come 
when  such  persons  would  be  con- 
sidered as  enemies  to  the  State,  and 
to  have  forfeited  all  claims  to  kind- 

The  objection  is  sure  to  be  urged 
against  my  scheme,  that  its  effects 
are  too  remote  for  men  to  care  to 
trouble  themselves  about  it.  The 
earlier  results  will  be  insignificant 
in  number,  and  disappointing  to  the 
sanguine  and  ignorant,  who  may 
expect  a  high  race  to  be  evolved 
out  of  the  present  mongrel  mass  ot 
mankind  in  a  single  generation.  Ot 
course  this  is  absurd  ;  there  will  be 
numerous  and  most  annoying  cases 
of  reversion  in  the  first  and  even  in 
the  second  generation,  but  when  the 
third  generation  of  selected  men 
has  been  reached,  the  race  will 
begin  to  bear  offspring  of  distinctly 
purer  blood  than  in  the  first,  and 


Hereditary  ImprovemerU, 

[January  1873 

afl^r  five  or  sijc  generations,  rever- 
sion to  an  inferior  type  will  be  rare. 
But  is  not  ttat  too  remote  an  event 
for  ua  to  care  for  ?  I  reply  that  the 
c  arrant  interest  a  which  the  scheme 
would  evoke  are,  as  already  ex- 
plained, of  a  very  attractive  kind, 
and  a  safficient  reward  for  consider- 
abJo  exertion  qaite  independently 
of  anything  else.  Its  effects  would 
be  ever  present,  clearly  visible,  of 
general  importance,  and  of  the  high- 
eet  interest,  the  number  of  experi- 
QientB  going  on  at  the  same  time 
being  an  equivalent  to  the  slow- 
ness with  which  their  results  be- 
came apparent.  Also,  it  must  be 
recollected  that  the  labourers  em- 
ployed on  the  foundation  of  any 
edifice,  Lave  a  store  of  present 
pleasure  in  discounting,  so  to  speak, 
its  fiiture  development. 

But  even  if  the  labour  were  wholly 
unromunerate^^  by  present  pleasure, 
I  should  not  denpair,  looking  at  the 
great  works  already  accomplished 
under  similar  conditions.  I  will 
cite  one  example.  The  forests  of 
Europe'  extend  over  enormous 
tracts.  In  France,  alone,  they 
cover  between  eight  and  nine  mil- 
lion aci'es,  which  equals  a  region 
130  milos  long-  by  100  broad.  The 
chief  timber  tree  in  France  is  oak, 
and  an  ordinance  which  dates  from 
1669  contains  a  clause  inserted  by 
Colbert  that  *  in  none  of  the  forests 
of  the  State  shall  oaks  be  felled  until 
they  are  ripe,  tliat  is,  are  unable  to 
prosper  for  more  than  thirty  years 
lon^r/  This?  regulation  has  been 
strictly  attended  to  up  to  the  pre- 
sent day,  and  ia  the  mean  time 
forest  legislation  lia§  grown  into  an 
important  duty  of  the  State.  The 
same  has  occurred  in  Germany,  and 

the  lead  of  these  two  countries  has 
been  followed  by  Italy,  Prussia, 
Austria,  Sweden,  Denmark,  and 
British  India.  To  return  to  our 
oaks  :  the  timber  is  of  great  value 
in  France,  not  only  for  ship  build- 
ing, but  on  account  of  the  enormous 
quantity  used  for  parquet  floors 
and  wine  casks,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  countries  which  for- 
merly supplied  it  in  abundance, 
are  now  running  short.  In  North 
Germany  oaks  are  rarely  permitted 
to  attain  a  large  size,  being  usually 
felled  before  fliey  are  100  years  of 
age,  and  the  fine  natural  forests  of 
Hungary,  Croatia  and  Sclavonia 
are  becoming  exhausted ;  conse- 
quently the  Government  of  France 
strives  to  fovour  in  every  way  the 
growth  of  fine  oak  timber  and  post- 
pones felling  the  trees  until  thej 
are  ftdly  mature ;  that  is,  between 
the  ages  of  150  and  180  years. 

Is  not  man  worthy  of  more  consi- 
deration  than  timber  ?  If  a  nation 
readily  consents  to  lay  costly  plans 
for  results  not  to  be  attained  until 
five  generations  of  men  shall  have 
passed  away,  for  a  good  supply  of 
oak,  could  it  not  be  persuaded  to 
do  at  least  as  much  for  a  good 
supply  of  man  ?  Marvellous  effects 
might  be  produced  in  five  genera- 
tions (or  in  166  years,  allowing 
three  generations  to  a  century).  1 
believe,  when  the  truth  of  heredity 
as  respects  man  shall  have  become 
firmly  established  and  clearly  un- 
derstood, that  instead  of  a  sluggish 
regard  being  shown  towards  a  prac- 
tical application  of  their  knowledge, 
it  is  much  more  likeljr  that  a  perfect 
enthusiasm  for  improving  the  race 
might  develop  itself  among  the  edu- 
cated classes. 

*  1  tak«  bU  the  following  facts  from  a  very  carious  and  interesting  memoir  by 
Mr,  Bjk^A  Qiimblp,  Assistant  Conseryator  of  Forests  in  British  India,  published  in  the 
IVfl7*A«c^wJw  &/th  Highland  and  Agricultural  Society  oj  Scotland,  1872. 




New  Sbbibs-        FEBRUARY  1873.   Vol.  VII.— No.  XXXVIII. 



THE  DOMINION  OF  CANADA.— Bt  Ctbil  Graham  131 

WITTENBERG  AND  COLOGNE.— Bt  Db.  Schwabtz  166 





DAILY  WORK  IN  A  NORTH-WEST  DISTRICT.— By  an  Indian  Official  197 

PLYMOUTH.— By  Richard  John  Kino 209 


THE  ORIGINAL  PROPHET.— By  a  Visitor  to  Salt  Lake  City 226 


THE  PEKING   GAZETTE,— By  Sir  Rutherford  Alcock,  K.C.B 246 

OUK8  AND  ARMOUR.— By  Commander  Wm.  Dawson,  R.N 267 








NEW  YORKL-^By  J.  A.  Froudb. 
NEW  EDITION'  OF  THE  PASTON  LETTERS.— By  L.  Toulmin-  Smith. 
A  VISIT   TO   SHAMTL'S    COUNTRY   IN   THE   AUTUMN    OF    1870.  —  By 

Bdwxbt  EwfsoM,  F.R.G.S. 

OF  AUENATION.^Bt  a.  K.  H.  B. 


ON  PRISONR.— Et  TUB  Right  Hon.  Sib  Walter  Crofton,  C.B. 
HEREDITARY  mPROVEMENT.— By  Francis  Galton,  F.R.S. 


fSevrmpQudmU^  are  desired  to  observe  that  all  Oommunwatlons  must  hr 
addressed  dired  to  the  Editor, 

Ilf^j^cted  Oofdrihntions  cannot  he  returned. 


FEBRUARY  1873. 


K'OT  much  more  than  a  century 
ago  the  greatest  and  most  pro- 
misfog  colony  ever  planted  and 
nnrtiu^  by  France  fell  into  the 
possession  of  Great  Britain.  Slightly 
behind  us  in  tlie  race  of  discovery, 
in  that  of  acquisition  she  had  sur- 
passed us ;  and  when  that  final  ap- 
peal to  arms  occurred  on  the  plains 
above  Quebec,  which  history  com- 
memorates as  a  mortal  duel  between 
two  great  conunanders,  she  claimed 
all  the  lands  watered  by  the  St.  Law- 
rence and  the  Mi^issippi  from  their 
Eooioes  to  the  ocean,  and  whatever 
else  might  lie  &rther  in  the  un- 
tnown  west,  even  to  the  very  shores 
of  the  Pacific. 

On  one  hazard  Montcalm  staked 
an  empire,  the  loss  of  which  was 
acknowledged  by  France  in  1763, 
and  with  it  that  supremacy  in  the 
New  World  for  which  the  rival 
powers  had  so  long  struggled.  The 
might  of  England  now  seemed 
almost  saperhuman.  Peaceful  and 
prosperous  at  home,  free  beyond 
other  countries,  honoured  and  feared 
bj  all,  the  limits  of  her  future 
greatness  depended  alone  upon  her 

In  that  moment  of  national  ex- 
ultation who  would  have  believed 
that  before  twenty  years  were  past 
a  large  section  of  the  people  who 
were  then  rejoicing  with  their  king, 
would  be  converted  into  deadly  ene- 
mies, dragging  fr*om  his  sway  the 
territory  fiiey  had  often  helped  him 
to  maintain,  and  that  of  all  his 
Transatlantic  subjects,  those  fo- 
reigners whom  he  had  just  acquired 
would  alone  remain  faithfril  to  him, 
and  even  be  foimd  a  little  later 
fighting  side  by  side  with  his  troops 
against  the  aggressions  of  the  new 
democracy  ?  Yet  these  events  form 
a  natural  sequence.*  Undisputed 
possession  rendered  us  too  confident 
of  our  treasures,  and  arrogant  to 
the  inevitable  guardians  of  them. 
Temptation  to  stab  his  old  foe, 
while  they  helped  him  to  the  mo- 
mentary gratification  of  revenge, 
blinded  Louis  XVI.  to  the  general 
danger  of  the  principles  he  was 
promulgating.  Whilst  their  con- 
sequences, bis  dethronement  and 
murder,  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom, 
and  the  annihilation  of  religion  and 
order,  so  shocked  the  simple  Nor- 
mans of  Canada  as  to  make  them 

'  Yet  ccftaiii  shrewd  thinkers  predicted  nenrly  what  happened.  It  is  said  that  at  the 
time  of  the  cession  the  French  ifinister  warned  the  Britisn  Envoy  that  it  would  lead  to 
the  lots  of  oar  colonies,  and  when  the  Treaty  was  fairly  signed,  Choiseul  could  not  held 
<selszmmg  with  glee,  *  At  last  we  have  got  them ! '  M.  de  Vergu&nes,  afterwards  Minister 
for  Fonign  Affairs,  then  Ambassador  at  the  Forte,  also  made  use  to  an  English  traveller 
^them  prophetic  words :  '  The  consequences  of  the  entire  cession  of  Canada  are  obvious. 
1  am  persoaded  Ei^^land  will  ere  long  repent  of  having  removed  the  only  check  that 
(cold  keep  her  colonies  in  awe.  They  stand  no  longer  in  need  of  her  protection.  8k$ 
viS  call  upon  them  to  contribute  towards  supporting  the  burdens  they  haw  helped  to  Mmg 
m  A<r,  and  they  will  reply  by  striking  off  all  dependence.'— Cbxast,  '  The  Constitution  of 
the  Britannic  Empire^  144. 

TOL.  yn.— HO.  xxxnn.  new  series.  l  s 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


forswear  France  and  cling  to  a 
throne  which  was  treating  them 
with  kindness. 

The  story  is  a  curious  one.  From 
the  time  of  the  great  Cartier,  who 
found  it,  to  that  of  the  brave  Mont- 
calm, who  lost  it,  Canada  was  the 
special  offspring  of  France.  She 
explored  it,  she  peopled  it;  her  mis- 
sionaries for  the  propagation  of  the 
faith,  her  voyageurs  for  the  exten- 
sion of  commerce,  accomplished 
journeys  which  place  them  amongst 
the  boldest  and  most  enterprising 
of  adventurers.  Alone  for  months, 
sometimes  for  years,  to  expedite  the 
great  end  they  had  in  view,  these 
Others  would  trust  themselves 
amongst  the  savages,  adopting  their 
mode  of  life,  mastering  their  dia- 
lects, enduring  their  privations, 
sharing  their  great  fatigues:  a 
career  of  self-sacrifice  which  often 
ended  in  an  untimely  death,  ac- 
companied by  those  refinements  of 
torture  in  which  the  aboriginal 
Americans  excelled  beyond  all  peo- 
ples of  the  earth,  and  even  prided 
themselves  in  exalting  to  an  art. 
To  the  untiring  efforts  and  the  tact 
of  these  good  men,  France  owed  to 
a  great  degree  the  permanence  and 
progress  of  her  work,  and  we  are 
indebted  to  them  for  the  earliest 
pictures  of  that  wild  northern  re- 
gion, with  its  wonderful  system  of 
waters,  and  it«  fathomless  forests, 
and  of  the  life,  so  rapidly  passing 
away,  of  its  primitive  inhabitants. 

Once  only  during  those  times  was 
her  domination  in  peril.  It  was  in 
the  early  days  of  Quebec.  England 
had  quarrelled  with  her  about  the 
treatment  of  the  Huguenots.  A 
British  squadron  sailed  up  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  all  French  America 

lay  at  our  mercy.  Wolfe's  prototype 
was  Sir  David  Kirk,  who  had 
brought  fame  with  him ;  Montcalm^s 
was  Champlain,  the  explorer,  the 
administrator,  the  real  founder  and 
the  preserver  of  the  new  Empire. 
All  the  honours  of  war  were  granted 
to  the  garrison,  and  Champlain  was 
allowed  to  return  to  France.  Peace 
was  being  discussed  when  he  arrived 
there,  and  his  dismay  and  mortifi- 
cation may -be  conceived  when  he 
found  the  value  of  La  Nonvelle- 
France  so  little  appreciated  by  the 
King  and  his  advisers,  that  they  had 
failed  to  make  its  restitution  one  of 
the  conditions  of  a  renewal  of  inter- 
course.  But  Champlain  was  not 
too  late  :  his  entreaties  and  remon- 
strances prevailed,  and  the  lost 
colony  was  restored  to  its  former 
possessors  (1630). 

To  trace  the  progress  and  vicissi- 
tudes of  Canada  during  the  next 
century  and  a  quarter,  an  interval 
ftiU  of  romance  and  interest,  would 
require  a  separate  essay  ;  her  for- 
tunes under  British  rule  is  the  task 
we  have  set  ourselves  to  consider ; 
we  must  therefore  be  content  to 
refer  those  who  are  curious  to  study 
the  times  of  our  predecessors,  to  the 
valuable  works  they  have  handed 
down  to  us,  the  titles  of  some  of 
which  will  be  found  in  the  note.* 

Lnmediately  after  the  peace  of 
1763,  Canada,  which  during  the  in- 
terval between  its  conquest  and 
formal  cession  by  treaty,  had  neces- 
sarily occupied  the  position  of  a 
military  province,  was  placed  under 
a  civil  administration.  In  the  same 
gazette  '  the  erection  in  America  of 
four  new  governments  is  announced 
— Quebec,  East  Florida,  and  West 
Florida*  on  the  mainland,  and  Gre- 

'  Belations  des  JesuUeSt  now  a  scarce  work,  remarkable  for  its  graphic  account  of  th« 
country  and  the  labours  of  the  pioneers.  Champlain's  Voyages,  Cbarleroix's  Bistoire  et 
Description  de  la  NouveUe-France,  1774.  De  Bacqueville  do  la  Potherie,  Hisicire  <&? 
rAmiriqtie  sepientrionale,  1722.  See  also  William  Smith's  History  of  Canada  to  ike 
Peace  of  1763,  published  at  Quebec,  and  an  excellent  abstract  of  the  Histozy  of 
Canada,  by  John  MacMullen,  Esq.,  published  at  Brockville,  Ontario,  in  1868. 

«  October  8,  1763. 

*  During  the  last  two  years  of  the  war  Spain  had  been  the  ally  of  France.  She  -was 
punished  by  the  loss  of  Cuba,  which,  for  the  sake  of  completing  our  continental  posses- 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


mdtk,  wHch  comprised  the  few  other 
West  Indian  islands  we  then  held* — 
together  with  the  appointment  of 
General  Murray  as  the  first  Gover- 
nor of  Qnebec.  A  conncil  of  eight 
w«s  nominated  to  advise  him,  and 
liis  instnictions  recommended,  in 
most  respects,  the  dispensation  a- 
dopted  in  our  Crown  Colonies  as  his 
model.  His  jurisdiction  extended 
over  Canada  proper ;  Nova  Scotia, 
which  then  comprised  what  are  now 
New  Bnmswick  and  part  of  Maine, 
forming  a  separate  province.  Too 
rigid  an  adherence  to  precedent  led 
Mnrraj,  in  one  of  his  early  acts,  into 
a  grave  error.  Excepting  the  garri- 
son, and  the  immediate  servants  of 
the  Crown,  not  a  creature  then  spoke 
a  word  of  anything  but  French, 
and  the  substitution  of  English  in 
the  Courts  of  Law  caused  a  natural 
mistrust  amongst  all  classes. 

The  speedy  correction  of  this 
false  step,  and  the  expressed  opinion 
of  the  Law  Officers  of  the  Crown 
that  neither  prudence  nor  justice 
warranted  an  alteration  of  the  sys- 
tem with  regard  to  land  and  pro- 
perty, which  we  found  in  force,  or 
in  any  of  the  customs  and  usages 
of  His  Majesty's  new  subjects,  went 
far  to  reconcile  these  to  their  fate, 
and  to  impart  a  confidence  in  Eng- 
land of  which  she  soon  amply  reaped 
the  fruits.  Henceforth  the  Caiitume 
t/«  Paris,  originally  compiled  by 
Canadian  jurists,  was  to  be  the 
authoritative  code  regulating  ques- 
tions which  afiected  land  and  in- 
heiitance ;  whilst  cases  of  personal 
contract  and  commercial  debts  were 
to  be  determined  according  to  the 
law  of  England. 

An  Act  of  Parliament,  in  1774, 
made  several  modifications  in  the 
machinery  of  administration.  The 
Council  was  augmented,  its  powers 
were  enlarged,  but  its  ordinances  to 

become  valid  must  receive  the 
royal  assent  within  six  months  of 
their  enactment.  The  area  of  the 
Governor's  authority  was  also  ex- 
panded so  as  to  include  Labrador, 
and  on  the  west,  the  countries 
between  the  Ohio  and  the  Missis- 
sippi, Had  it  not  involved  the  ex- 
tension of  the  Province,  or  had  the 
lands  now  added  been  uninhabited, 
the  *  Quebec  Act '  might  claim  al- 
most unreserved  praise.  But  the  ad- 
ditional territory  contained  20,000 
persons  of  British  origin,  who  in- 
stantly raised  a  cry  that  their  in- 
terests were  sacrificed,  their  liberty 
endangered,  and  that  his  new-fangled 
subjects,  who  were  about  to  over- 
whelm them,  were  dearer  to  the  King 
than  his  old  and  trusty  servants. 

In  the  House  of  Lords,  Chatham 
raised  his  voice  unheeded,  and  the 
20,000,  with  their  millions  of  rich 
acres,  were  worse  than  lost  to  us 
for  ever. 

One  clause  in  the  Quebec  Act, 
and  which,  perhaps,  more  than  any 
part  of  it  secured  Canada  to  our 
interests,  gave  to  the  Romish  clergy 
full  exercise  of  their  religion,  sub- 
ject to  the  King's  supremacy,  and 
the  power  to  enjoy  the  dues  and 
rights  accruing  to  them  from  the 
members  of  their  congregations, 
with  a  proviso  that  this  concession 
should  not  debar  his  Majesty  from 
making  such  provision  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  Protestant  clergy  as  he 
should  hereafter  think  fit. 

The  lamentable  story  of  the  next 
nine  years,  the  blunders  of  Govern- 
ment, and  the  often  tactless  atti- 
tude of  the  Opposition,  who  by  the 
violence  of  their  speech  not  only  con- 
firmed an  overwhelmingly  power- 
ful Ministry  in  their  stubbornness, 
but  encouraged  the  more  unrea- 
sonable people  on  the  other  side 
of  the    water  in  their  turbulence, 

»ioQs,  ve  exchanged  for  the  Floridas.  They  included,  besides  the  present  State  of 
^loridA,  those  portions  to  the  south  of  latitude  31  of  what  are  now  Alabama  and  Mis- 
sissippi. The  vast  and  unknown  region  to  the  west  of  the  Mississippi  was,  for  the 
present,  left  to  the  Indians,  with  the  intention  of  purchasing  portions  of  it  from  them 
hfiRafter,  when  the  exigencies  of  the  colonists  should  lead  them  to  require  more  space 
•  The  Grenadines,  iSminica,  St.  Vincent  and  Tobago. 


The  Dominion  of  Caada. 


can  never  be  recalled  withooit  the 
gravest  sorrow.  In  the  whole  of 
onr  annals  never  did  party  strife 
cost  ns  so  great  a  price. 

The  wrench,  which  ultimately 
came  would  have  paralysed  any  but 
the  stoutest  empire.  To  be  pos- 
sessed one  day  of  almost  an  entire 
continent,  which  dipped  into  the 
tropics,  and  comprised  every  ima- 
ginable soil  and  produce,  and  the 
next  of  a  mere  glacial  part  of  it, 
might  have  caused  in  a  more  mer- 
curial race  than  the  British  a  reck- 
lessness with  regard  to  this  rem- 
nant which  would  have  led  to  its 
alienation  also. 

But  clumsiness  and  ignorance, 
not  weakness,  had  been  the  cause  of 
her  loss,  and  England  bravely  set 
to  work  to  make  the  best  of  what 
was  left  her.  Eflforts  were  made  at 
colonisation,  and  in  those  loyal 
gentlemen  in  particular  who,  having 
sacrificed  their  own  and  their  sons* 
blood  and  everything  they  held 
dear  in  the  service  of  their  Sove- 
reign, preferred  a  bit  of  barren 
forest  and  Arctic  snows  under  mon- 
archy to  comfort  and  affluence  in  a 
repubh'c,  the  hopes  for  the  future 
were  principally  centred.  To  as 
many  of  these  as  desired  them, 
allotments  of  land  were  made  in 
the  peninsula  between  the  great 
lakes,  in  a  district  south  of  Mont- 
real, and  in  that  portion  of  the  old 
Acadia  which  hes  to  the  north  of 
the  Bay  of  Fundy.  To  provide  yet 
further  for  the  insulation  of  the 
English — a  prevalent  idea  amongst 
most  statesmen  of  that  time 
was,  that  the  English  and  French 
settlers  should  as  far  as  possible 
be  kept  asunder  —  Mr.  Pitt,  in 
1 79 1,  introduced  a  Bill  for  the 
division  of  Canada  into  two 
Provinces.  The  line  of  demarcation, 
in  general  terms,  was  the  river 
Ottawa;  the  two  little  counties  of 
Vaudreuil  and  Soulanges,  already 
occupied  by  the  French,  being  alone 
excepted  from  Upper  Canada. 
These  and  everything  to  the  east 
were     to     constitute    the     Lower 

Province.  Each  colony  was  to 
have  its  own  Legislature,  com- 
posed of  two  Chambers,  the  Upper 
named  by  the  Crown  for  life,  the 
Lower  elected  by  the  people.  The 
Habeas  Corpus  Act  was  to  be 
a  fundamental  principle  of  both 
constitutions,  and  the  Church  of 
England,  in  either  Canada,  to 
receive  endowments  of  land,  since 
known  as  the  *  Clergy  reserves.' 
Mr.  Fox  opposed  this  separation. 
Instead  of  perpetuating  nationa- 
lities, he  argued,  our  object  should 
be  to  fase  them  ;  he  also  wished  to 
see  both  branches  of  the  Legislature 
elective ;  a  higher  qualification  being 
exacted  both  from  the  voters  and  the 
candidates  for  the  Upper  Honse. 
Even  the  party  of  change  in  Canada, 
who  had  been  agitating  for  popnkr 
representation,  disapproved  of  the 
separation  clause,  partly  on  the 
grounds  alleged  by  Mr.  Fox,  partly 
because  they  imagined  it  would 
affect  ti'ade  injuriously.  Mr.  Lym- 
bemer,  their  agent,  carried  a  protest 
to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
but  his  representations  did  not  con- 
vince. The  Bill  passed  the  Lords, 
received  the  royal  assent,  and  that 
constitution  came  into  operation 
which  endured  exactly  half  a  cen- 
tury. Amongst  the  details  are  the 
numbers  of  representatives — not 
fewer  than  seven  for  the  Legislative 
Council,  or  fifteen  for  the  Legislatiye 
Assembly,  in  Upper  Canada;  in 
Lower,  not  fewer  than  fifteen,  and 
fifty  in  the  similar  respectiTe 
Chambers  ;  a  provision,  of  which 
advantage  never  seems  to  have  been 
taken,  to  enable  the  King  to  annex 
to  certain  hereditary  titles  of  honour 
the  right  of  a  summons  to  the  Upper 
House  ;  the  definition  of  the  power 
of  the  Governor,  of  the  laws  of 
property,  and  of  the  proportion  of 
Crown  lands  to  be  devoted  to  the 
Churoh  for  her  proper  maintenance. 
To  appreciate  the  position  of  the 
Colony  at  that  time,  and  in  order  to 
compare  it  hereafter  with  that  which 
it  now  occupies,  a  few  statistics  are 
unavoidable.     In  Upper  Canada— 


TJie  Dominion  of  Canada. 


rhicfa,  to  speak  roughly,  is  aboat 
the  size  of  iJie  British  Isles,  Lower 
Canada  being  about  equal  to  France 
—two  villages  only  existed,  Newark 
by  Niagara,  and  York  on  the  Lake 
Chiiario.  The  whole  white  popula- 
tion amounted  to  6,000  souls,  in  the 
other  province  to  150,000.  Simcoe 
was  the  first  Grovemor  of  the  one, 
Lord  Dorchester  of  the  other.  In 
his  absence,  in  December  1792,  Sir 
Alured  Clarke  met  the  first  Parlia- 
ment at  Quebec,  and  Simcoe's  first 
speech  from  the  throne  was  delivered 
in  the  previous  September,  in  a  log- 
2mt  at  Newark.  Thus,  amongst  the 
thimders  of  Niagara,  where  the 
Huron  had  loved  to  harangue,  his 
fioccessors  held  their  earliest  dis- 
cnssioD.  The  Assembly  was  com- 
posed of  sixteen  farmers  and  trades- 
men ;  the  Council,  of  Royalists  lately 
come  from  the  rebellions  colonies. 
The  session,  which  consumed  but 
five  -weeks,  otherwise  gave  evidence 
of  good  sense.  Eight  measures 
were  carried,  of  which  the  principal 
were— the  introduction  of  Enghsh 
cinl  law,  of  trial  by  jury,  the  divi- 
sion of  the  Province  into  four  dis- 
tricts, and  of  every  district  into 
twelve  counties,  and  a  vote  for  the 
erection  of  a  court-house  and  gaol 
in  every  district.  Their  exertions 
earned  for  them  the  hearty  com- 
mendation of  the  Governor,  and 
then,  with  his  kindly  and  hopeful 
words  ringing  in  their  ears,  they 
returned  to  that  battle  with  the 
forests  and  other  obstacles  which, 
renewed  season  after  season,  has 
won  the  lands  that  gladden  the 
heart  of  the  stranger  who  passing 
that  way  chances  to  see  them  in 
summer,  though  he,  perhaps,  hardly 
estimates  the  toil,  and  suffering,  and 
endnraoce,  and  heartburnings  they 

The  deliberations  of  the  Legisla- 
tnie  in  Lower  Canada  were  &r  more 
lengthy.  Preliminary  questions, 
from  which  the  Upper  Province 
was  naturally  exempt,  had  to  be 
considered  there.  The  matter  of 
l^i^guage,   for   instance,    occupied 

much  time,  and  it  was  ultimately 
ruled  that  motions  or  questions 
from  the  chair  should  be  put,  and 
the  journals  kept,  in  French  and  in 
English.  Education  also  met  with 
a  share  of  attention,  and  a  petition 
was  voted  to  the  King  praying  for 
the  establishment  of  a  college.  It 
is  worthy  of  recollection  that  this 
first  constitutional  address  of  French 
Canadians  was  penned  when  the 
representative  of  their  former  mas- 
ters was  about  to  ascend  the  scaf- 
fold. As  to  finance ;  in  the  Lower 
Province  the  first  balance-sheet 
presented  gave  for  the  year  1795 
a  revenue  of  5,oooZ.  against  an 
expenditure  of  20,oooZ.,  but  every 
successive  budget  showed  an  im- 
provement upon  this,  and  as  early 
as  1797  we  find  a  deficit  of  only 
4,oooZ.  in  an  expenditure  of  30,000^. 
The  auditors  in  the  Upper  Province 
dealt  with  less  portentous  figures, 
and  we  can  well  understand  84L 
worth  of  stationery,  in  one  year, 
for  the  use  of  the  Legislature  strik- 
ing them  as  a  startling  item.  The 
period  from  1812  to  1814  was  one 
of  sore  trial  to  our  young  colonies. 
A  straggling  territory,  with  300,000 
souls  and  only  4,500  regular  troops 
to  defend  it,  found  itself  suddenly 
confronted  with  a  country  possess- 
ing a  population  of  eight  millions 
and  an  army  of  25,000.  England, 
engaged  in  a  gigantic  war  and  her 
resources  strained  to  the  utmost 
tension,  could  afford  little  help,  and 
the  defence  of  Canada  devolved 
upon  the  people.  We  always  think 
the  issue  of  this  two  years'  war  the 
best  rebuke  to  those  who  tremble 
for  a  long  frontier,  and  forget  the 
dreadfril  barrier  to  invasion  a  people 
may  oppose  who  care  enough  for 
their  institutions  and  their  home 
really  to  fight  for  both.  Long  be- 
fore it  was  ended  every  male 
capable  of  bearing  arms,  French 
or  English,  took  the  field ;  and  the 
Union  might  well  be  thankful,  when 
the  events  of  18 14  relieved  the  hands 
of  Great  Britain,  that^twentT*  years 
of  campaigning  had  given  her  a 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


sufficient  desire  for  repose  to  listen 
to  overtares  of  peace. 

For  half  a  generation  the  world 
now  indulged  in  unusual  quiet. 
Then,  as  if  this  had  taxed  its  pa- 
tience too  long,  came  the  sanguin- 
ary revolutions  on  the  Continent, 
and  the  bloodless  revolution  in 
England  followed  by  a  policy  which 
was  to  affect  all  her  possessions. 
Canada,  seized  by  the  general  con- 
tagion,  soon  began  to  clamour  for 
reform.  The  British  colonists  wanted 
one  thing,  the  French  another;  many 
good  and  salutary  concessions  offered 
by  Lord  Grey's  Oovemment,  some 
of  them,  as  we  believe,  prematurely, 
provoked  fresh  demands  to  which 
it  seemed  impossible  to  the  ministry 
to  accede.  A  term  of  querulous 
dissatisfaction  ensued,  culminating 
in  violence,  and  the  latter  part  of 
the  decade  comprises  the  most  un- 
pleasant passage  between  Canada 
and  the  mother-country.  Indeed, 
for  a  moment,  appearances  threat- 
ened a  very  different  issue  from  that 
which  was  happily  achieved;  but 
the  loyalty  of  the  majority  helped 
the  authorities,  and  the  crisis  was 
overcome.  A  scheme,  which  for 
some  time  had  been  under  discus- 
sion, was  now  matured.  The  po- 
litical separation  into  two  provinces 
which  had  been  effected  in  1791 
was  to  be  repealed.  The  French 
were  to  retain  their  rights  and  their 
laws  unimpaired  as  heretofore,  but 
instead  of  two  Executives  and  two 
Legislatures  the  whole  country  was 
to  be  governed  by  one  Ministiyand 
one  Parliament,  consisting  of  an 
Upper  and  Lower  House,  to  which 
IMjnisters,  as  in  England,  were  to  be 
responsible.  Under  a  constitution 
precisely  similar  to  that  of  their 
fellow-countrymen  at  home,  and 
endowed  with  an  equal  latitude  for 
self-government,  it  was  hoped  that 
all  altercations  between  the  Colony 
and  England  would  now  be  at  an 
end,  and — an  additional  argument 
in  favour  of  the  new  measure — ^that 

the  community  of  action  and  pub- 
lic interests  which  it  involved, 
would  bring  into  closer  relationship 
two  populations  of  different  lan- 
guage and  different  race. 

]£ngston^  was  chosen  for  the 
present  as  the  centre  of  govern- 
ment, and  on  June  13,  1841,  Lord 
Sydenham  summoned  the  legis- 
lators of  the  United  Provinces  to 
their  work,  of  which  his  speech 
gave  the  immediate  outlines. 
Touching  first  upon  certain  local 
and  international  topics  of  interest, 
it  went  on  to  assert '  Her  Majesty*s 
determination  to  protect  her  Cana- 
dian subjects  to  the  utmost  of  her 
power.'  It  next  recommended  im- 
provements in  the  postal  arrange- 
ments,  the  development  of  public 
works  —  for  which  the  Imperial 
Treasury  promised  to  hold  itself  re^ 
sponsible  to  the  amount  of  a  millioii 
and  a  half  sterling,  the  encoun^e- 
ment  of  inmiigraiaon  on  a  large 
scale,  the  creation  of  municipal 
councils,  and  a  better  provision  for 
education.  Thence  passing  to  the 
question  of  defence,  it  announced 
the  intention  of  Government  to 
make  a  large  annual  appropriation 
for  this  purpose,  'Her  Majesty 
being  determined  at  all  hazards  to 
maintain  the  existing  British  Pro- 
vinces of  North  America  as  part  of 
the  Empire.'  Inspirited  by  these 
marks  of  affection  from  home  the 
session  produced  much  useful  work, 
and  at  its  close  members  might  look 
with  honest  pride  to  the  last  fourteen 
weeks  of  their  life.  One  event 
pained  every  one,  the  Governor- 
General,  whom  all  had  learned  to 
respect,  met  with  a  severe  injury  a 
few  days  before  the  prorogation, 
and  on  the  day  succeeding  it,  ex- 
pired. Sir  Charles  Bagot's  reign 
was  unhappily  short,  and  ill-health 
compelled  Lord  Metcalfe  to  tender 
his  resignation  after  a  service  in 
Canada  of  only  two  years.  An 
awkward  discussion — a  legacy  of 
the     recent    troubles— concerning 

'  Onlj  until  proper  buildings  should  be  erected  in  Montreal. 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


the  indemnitj  due  to  those  who  had 
mnooentlj  suffered  from  them,  ren- 
dered oneasj  the  earlier  part  of 
Lord  Elgin's  reign.  The  difficulty 
was  adjusted  in  1850,  and  of  the 
next  ten  years  it  may  be  said  that 
thej  show  a  growth  at  once  rapid 
and  healthy,  and  although  a  few 
steps  were  taken  which  have  since 
been  retraced,  legislation  was  for 
the  most  part  orderly,  progressive, 
and  productive  of  good.  One  ble- 
mish was  the  rendering  of  the 
Upper  House  elective — another, 
the  secularisation  of  the  clergy 
resenres ;  hut  the  provision,  and  on 
a  magnificent  scale,  for  railways 
—the  locomotive  was  as  yet  un- 
known in  Canada — and  a  better 
ordering  of  the  system  of  finance, 
may  effacemany  errors.  The 'reform 
party,*  in  this  season  of  prosperity, 
lost  its  compactness;  many  of  its 
able8tmembers,more  than  indifferent 
to  change,  were  scouted  by  the  ex- 
treme renmant  as  a  sort  of  rene- 
gades, and  the  benches  of  the 
House,  instead  of  two  sets  of  occu- 
pants, came  to  be  divided  between 
the  Moderate  Reformers  or  Whigs, 
the  Radicals  or  Clear  Grits — as  they 
were  nicknamed — and  the  Conser- 
vatives. Of  these  three  factions 
Lord  Elgin's  ministers  represented 
the  first;  M.  Dorion  and  Mr. 
G«»^  Brown,  both  men  of  great 
abilily,  the  second ;  and  Sir 
Alan  McNab,  Mr.  (now  Sir)  John 
A.  Macdonald,  and  Mr.  Morin 
the  third.  The  Whigs  were  the 
most  numerous,  but  inferior  in 
strength  to  the  other  two  combined, 
and  an  adverse  vote  at  the  opening 
of  the  session  of  1854,  left  the 
Premier,  Mr.  Hincks,  no  alternative 
hut  r^ignation.  Sir  Alan  McNab, 
charged  with  the  formation  of  a 
new  Cabinet,  with  Mr.  Morin,  en- 
tered into  negotiation  with  the 
^iiigs,  and  the  result  was  a 
coalition,  the  first  example  to 
Canada  of  the  mode  in  which 
differences  elsewhere  have  occa- 
sionally been  adjusted.  This  was 
the  last  important  event  of  Lord 

Elgin's  Administration ;  he  had 
lately  returned  from  Washington, 
having  helped  to  conclude  a  treaty 
of  reciprocity  with  the  United 
States,  and  soon  after  prorogation 
he  retired  to  serve  his  sovereign  in 
other  lands.  It  is  perhaps  necessary 
to  have  visited  a  detached  com- 
munity of  our  countrymen,  to  esti- 
mate the  anxiety  with  which  every 
event  is  watched  which  concerns 
national  honour.  Nowhere  was 
every  vicissitude  of  the  Russian 
campaign  more  keenly  followed 
than  in  Canada,  and  instead  of  the 
unpleasant  business  which  had 
awaited  too  many  of  his  predeces- 
sors, Sir  Edmund  Head's  first  com- 
munication with  his  superiors  trans- 
mitted a  vote  of  congratulation  to 
the  Queen  from  both  Houses  on  the 
success  of  her  arms,  and  a  cheque 
for  2o,ooo2.  voted  by  his  Parliament 
as  a  subscription  to  the  fond  for  the 
relief  of  the  widows  and  orphans 
of  those  who  fell  in  the  Crimea, 
besides  private  subscriptions  to  a 
considerable  amount  for  the  same 
object.  It  wiU  also  be  remembered 
that  a  complete  regiment  was  raised 
in  Canada  for  foreign  service,  and 
that  the  large  number  of  volunteers 
who  enrolled  themselves  Hberated 
the  greater  part  of  the  regular 
forces  for  more  active  work. 

The  union  of  the  Provinces  had 
brought  into  vogue  a  curious  speci- 
men of  Parliamentary  mechanism. 
The  minister,  instead  of  abiding  by 
the  decision  of  a  majority  of  the 
whole  House,  thought  it  necessary 
to  appeal  separately  to  the  French 
and  English  sections.  If  both  agreed 
with  hun,  his  measure  proceeded  ; 
but  the  verdict  against  it  of  either 
of  them  was  accepted  as  a  defeat. 
Mr.  John  A.  Macdonald,  who  suc- 
ceeded M.  Tach6  as  Premier  in  1854, 
abandoned  this  practice  as  unsound. 
A  further  attempt  (which,  however, 
failed)  to  obliterate  the  former 
boundaries  between  the  two  races, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  proposal  to 
substitute  for  the  constant  number 
of  sixty.five  members  for  each  of  the 


Tlie  Dominion  of  Canada. 


Ganadas,  a  representation  based 
upon  the  population  of  the  whole 
province.  The  situation  of  the 
capital  was  another  subject  of  keen 
controversy.  The  inconvenience  had 
long  been  felt  of  the  system  of 
alternate  seats  of  Government, 
necessitating  the  dragging  of  the 
archives  every  two  years  from  place 
to  place.  But  the  English  would 
not  hear  of  Quebec ;  the  French, 
with  better  reason,  regarded  Toronto 
as  eccentric ;  Montreal  was,  so  to 
speak,  disfranchised  for  its  crimes  ; 
and  nothing  remained  but  a  com- 
promise. The  decision  was  at  last 
referred  to  the  Queen,  who  was  ad- 
vised to  choose  Bytown,  above  the 
confluence  of  the  Gatineau  with 
the  Ottawa,  and  there  a  city  now 
stands,  named  afber  its  magnificent 
river,  which  possesses  public 
buildings  the  most  sightly,  and 
perhaps  the  most  commodious  of 
which  any  capital  can  boast. 

The  defeat  of  Lord  Palmerston's 
Government  in  the  spring  of  1858 
placed  the  colonies  in  the  hands  of 
an  acute  and  far-seeing  statesman. 
Persuaded  of  the  inestimable  value 
of  our  American  possessions,  he 
erected  into  a  Crown  Colony,  under 
the  name  of  British  Columbia, 
a  settlement  in  the  extreme  West, 
with  the  further  design  of  placing 
under  the  direct  rule  of  the  Crown 
the  territory  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  and  of  making  provision 
for  a  railway  to  connect  Halifax 
with  New  Westminster,  an  Atlantic 
with  a  Pacific  port.  Had  Sir 
Edward  Lytton's  tenure  of  office  been 
longer,  or  his  successors  grasped 
his  great  schemes,  these  pages 
might  commemorate  that  which 
they  wish  to  predict.  Ten  years 
were  wasted,  but  before  another 
ten  are  past  we  expect  to  see  Lord 
Lytton's  visions  fulfilled . 

The  paragraph  in  the  Queen's 
Speech  opened  a  new  and  a  vast 
field  of  ambition  to  our  colonists, 
and  in  Canada,  to  this  day,  it  is 
quoted  with  enthusiasm.  One  of 
its  immediate  consequences  was  an 

agitation  for  a  federal  union  of  all 
the  North  American  provinces.  The 
area  was  perhaps  too  great,  and  the 
interests  for  the  present  too  diverse, 
to  admit  of  a  closer  bond.  Bat  it 
was  hoped  that  the  resalts  of  a 
common  system  of  finance,  and  the 
intercourse  which  a  central  Parlia- 
ment would  compel,  might  be  bene- 
ficial to  all  of  the  associating  mem- 
bers. The  force  of  the  latter 
consideration  will  be  the  more  felt 
if  we  remember  that,  owing  to  the 
absence  of  proper  communieatioii 
between  Canada  and  the  maritime 
colonies,  the  latter  were  more  in- 
timate  with  Liverpool  and  London 
than  with  Montreal  and  Toronto. 
ELalifax,  as  a  great  station  of  the 
navy,  and  the  resort  of  packets  and 
ships  of  every  kind  was  brought 
into  direct  aud  daily  contact  with 
home,  and  its  merchants  had  come 
to  consider  the  crossing  of  the 
Atlantic  a  less  serious  business  than 
the  passage  from  Dover  to  Calais 
appears  to  many  an  English  tra- 

This  is  the  place  to  take  notice 
of  those  maritime  states,  which, 
though  of  far  smaller  area,  and  since 
their  cession  to  the  Crown,  present- 
ing a  history  perhaps  less  eventfnl 
than  that  of  the  Canadas,  owe  to 
their  position  an  importance  which 
makes  them  indispensable  to  ihe 
safety  of  our  North  American  em- 

A  glance  at  the  map  will  illus- 
trate this  more'  readily  than  a 
treatise,  especially  when  it  is  borne 
in  mind  that  during  at  least  a  third 
of  the  year,  the  St.  Lawrence^  the 
only  other  access  to  the  hinder 
territory,  is  rendered  unnavigable 
by  the  ice. 

At  the  period  at  which  our  nar- 
rative has  arrived  (1858)  Nova 
Scotia,  New  Brunswick,  and  Prince 
Edward  Island,  were  separate  colo- 
nies, with  institutions  of  their  own, 
and  in  no  way  connected  with  their 
more  powerful  neighbour;  now,  with 
it  and  other  provinces,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Island,  they  form 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


«  great  confederation,  whose  object 
is  to  secnre  nnanimity  of  action, 
ecoaomj  of  resources,  closer  inter- 
(xmrse,  and  a  general  compactness 
of  the  whole  mass.  The  storj  of 
the  maritime  states  may  be  briefly 
gket'Ched  as  follows : — The  nnpara- 
kUed  voyage  and  discoveries  of 
Columbus,  which  promised  so  novel 
and  gplendid  an  addition  to  the 
Boyereignty  of  Spain,  had  filled  the 
people  of  Europe  with  marvel  and 
her  princes  witii  a  fervor  of  excite- 
ment, intensified  almost  to  phrenzy  in 
the  case  of  Henry  VII.,  who,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  envy  which  he  might  feel 
in  common  with  other  potentates,  en- 
dured the  mortification  of  feeling 
that  an  accident  alone  had  deprived 
him  of  that  brilliant  prize  which 
now  belonged  to  Ferdinand.  But 
geogn^hers  and  statesmen  were 
not  slow  in  supposing  that  there 
mnst  be  room  for  more  than  one 
conqueror  in  that  cnrions  new  world, 
and  as  early  as  1497,  Sebastian 
Cabot,  Grand  Pilot  of  England,  bnt 
a  Venetian  by  birth,  sailed-  from 
Bristol,  and  directing  his  coarse  as 
nearly  as  possible  along  the  parallel 
fromwhichhe  started,  became  the  dis- 
coverer of  Newfoundland;  whence, 
pursuing  his  voyage  a  little  to  the 
south  of  west,  he  was  the  first 
European,  except  indeed  the  Ice- 
landers, to  touch  the  Continent  of 
America.  Having  taken  posses- 
sion of  these  territories  in  the 
King^g  name,  he  returned  home  to 
give  an  account  of  his  successes. 
His  son,  Sebastian,  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  after  an  interval  of 
sercral  years  prosecuted  his  re- 
searches, and  added  Labrador  to 
his  fether*8  discoveries. 

From  that  time  for  nearly  a  cen- 
tury these  latitudes  seem  to  have 
heoi  neglected  by  England,  whose 
sea-gomg  adventures  found  ample 
occapation  in  more  genial  climes. 
Strongly  contrasted  with  our  indif- 
ference were  the  spirit  and  energy 
evinced  by  France  in  the  stm^le 
with  thedjfficulties  which  surrounded 
her  in  Canada,  and  it  is  not  sur- 

prising that,  after  sixty  years  of 
steady  industry,  during  whioh  we 
had  done  nothing  to  secure  advan- 
ta^  from  Cabot's  discoveries,  it 
should  have  occurred  to  her  to  plant 
settlements  in  the  neglected  lands 
between  her  frontier  and  the  Bay 
of  Fundy,  which,  together  with  the 
contiguous  peninsula,  she  now  in- 
cluded under  the  general  name  of 

This  seizure,  which  was  efiected 
in  1598,  now  aroused  our  jealousy, 
and  an  expedition  was  despatched, 
which  resulted  in  the  re-assertion  of 
the  prior  rights  of  the  English 
Crovm.  In  its  wake  came  a  band 
of  Scotch  colonists,  under  Sir  Wm. 
Alexander,  to  whom  James  I.  gave 
a  grant  of  Acadia — henceforth  to 
be  known  as  Nova  Scotia.  It  soon, 
however,  again  fell  into  the  hands  of 
our  rivals,  who  held  it,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  thirteen  years  between 
1654  and  1667,  until  1690,  when  it 
was  once  more  taken  by  England,  to 
whom  it  was  formally  ceded  at  the 
Peace  of  Utrecht,  and  to  whom  it 
has  ever  since  belonged. 

After  this  date  immigration  from 
the  British  Isles  continued  to  flow 
thither,  and  in  1 748  a  body  of  troops 
disbanded  by  Lord  Halifax  formed 
a  settlement  on  the  site  of  the  city 
which  now  bears  his  name. 

After  the  •  outbreak  of  hostilities 
with  France  the  possession  of  Nova 
Scotia  became  again  an  object  of 
contention  between  the  belligerents. 
Gape  Breton,  an  island  separated 
by  a  narrow  strait  from  the  main- 
land, still  belonged  to  the  French, 
who,  especially  since  the  loss  of  their 
Acadia,  had  cherished  this  spot  as 
a  rendezvous  for  their  fleets,  and 
a  perpetual  menace  to  England. 
Louisburg,  on  the  eastern  side  of 
Cape  Breton,  was,  after  Quebec,  the 
strongest  fortress  in  North  America, 
and  its  capture  in  1757,  which  de* 
prived  France  of  the  last  of  her 
Atlantic  positions,  attracted  that 
attention  to  James  Wolfe  which 
^ve  him  the  command  of  the  army 
m  Canada,  and  thus  led  to  the  se^ 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


cond  victoiy  which  has  immortal- 
ised his  name.  Cape  Breton,  like 
onr  other  conqnests  in  those  regions, 
was  formally  ceded  by  the  Treaty 
of  1763,  and  has  since  been  classed 
as  a  district  of  Nova  Scotia.  The 
limits  of  the  colony  nntil  the  end  of 
the  American  War  were,  on  the 
north-west,  Canada,  and  on  the 
sonth-west  New  England;  and  it 
may  be  roughly  described  to  have 
been  about  the  size  of  England.  It 
was  thinly  peopled  and  except  in 
the  peninsula,  to  which  the  former 
name  is  now  restricted,  scarcely 
anyone  of  British  race  or  descent 
could  be  found.  The  influx  of 
Boyalists  in  1783,  to  which  allusion 
was  incidentally  made  on  a  former 
page,  altered  the  condition  of  the 
other  and  larger  portion,  which, 
considering  the  number  and  the 
class  of  the  new  occupants,  and  the 
irksomeness  in  those  days  of  a  jour- 
ney to  Halifax,  was  almost  imme- 
diately raised  into  a  separate  colony 
under  the  name  of  New  Brunswick. 

Prince  Edward  Island,  which  lies 
in  the  lap;  so  to  say,  of  both  these 
colonies — its  minimum  distance  from 
land  is  but  nine  miles — was  peopled 
by  the  French ;  and  although  Cabot 
could  not  fail  to  find  it  when  he 
was  passing  from  Newfoundland  to 
Nova  Scotia,  it  seems  td  have  re* 
ceived  little  attention  from  the 
English  until  the  year  1758  when 
it  was  taken  and  added  as  a  county 
to  the  colony  on  the  mainland. 

In  honour  of  its  sponsor,  the 
second  son  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
it  exchanged  its  older  name  of  lle- 
Royale  for  that  by  which  it  is  now 
known.  Its  lands,  which  are  fer- 
tile and  easily  worked,  were  allotted 
to  certain  gentlemen  in  England,  a 
few  of  whom  settled  or  sent  their 
younger  sons  there ;  and  these,  to- 
gether with  a  certain  number  of 
retainers,  English,  Scotch,  Irish, 
a  couple  of  regiments  of  disbanded 
Hessians,  the  French  habitants,  and 
the  remnant  of  the  aborigines, 
were  the  progenitors  of  the  motley 
population  which  now  interests  the 

visitor.  As  early  as  1771a  petition 
for  a  separate  existence  was  an- 
swered by  the  appointment  of  a 
governor  and  council,  who,  accord- 
ing  to  the  unerring  destiny  of  onr 
colonial  governments,  have  expanded 
into  three  estates.  The  entire 
population,  which  does  not  exceed 
100,000  souls,  possess  thirty  per- 
sons who  are  supposed  directly  to 
express  their  humours  or  their 
views,  and  a  superior  eleven  to 
countenance  or  correct  them.  The 
secrets  of  the  little  State  are  en- 
trusted to  nine  gentlemen,  four  of 
whom  serve  without  portfolio  or 
remuneration.  Customs  and  excise 
furnish  a  revenue  which  equals  if 
it  does  not  exceed  the  expenditure. 
The  island  abounds  in  provisions, 
its  waters  in  fish  ;  the  consumer  of 
alcohol  or  foreign  luxuries  alone 
pays  taxes,  so  that  in  few  places  in 
the  world  is  life  so  easily  and  com- 
fortably supported. 

Unlike  the  adjacent  continent, 
which  knows  no  medium  between 
the  bristling  forest  and  absolute 
nudity  of  timber,  the  island  has 
been  cleared  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  leave  coverts  and  clumps,  and 
even  solitary  trees — a  contrast  to 
their  crowded  brethren, — stately 
and  wide-spreading,  which,  toge- 
ther with  its  orchards  and  hedge- 
rows, ruddy  soil  and  pretty  farms, 
good  roads  and  an  undulating  land- 
scape, give  it  in  the  summer  and 
autumn  that  homely  appearance 
inseparable  from  our  associations 
with  English  scenery. 

Its  outline  is  peculiar.  The  sea- 
ward shore  may  roughly  be  de- 
scribed as  a  continuous  curve 
hanging  between  two  degrees  of 
longitude ;  towards  the  land  its  as- 
pect is  equally  shared  by  Nova 
Scotia  and  New  Brunswick,  with 
both  of  which  provinces  a  constant 
communication  subsists.  Its  mean 
breadth  is  eighteen  miles,  which  the 
attacks  of  the  waves  have  re- 
duced in  two  places  to  a  fourth 
and  less  than  a  fourth  of  that 
distance.      Yet  it  finds    room  for 

The  Domdnimi  of  Canada. 


one  faroad  river,  navigable  almost  to 
its  sonrce,  besides  many  streams 
abounding  in  salmon  and  trout,  and 
its  millions  of  acres  of  blood-red 
laad  might  bear  many  times  the 
actual  population.  The  climate  is 
healili J,  but  severe,  and  its  inter- 
eonrse  mih.  the  outer  world  is  all 
but  closed  during  the  hardest  months 
of  winter.  To  this  day  about  one- 
ninth  of  the  island  is  owned  by  the 
heirs  of  the  recipients  of  King 
Geoi^*8  grant.  Of  these  a  very 
small  minority  make  it  their  resi- 
denoe^  and  the  absorption  of  the 
claims  of  the  absentees  is  the  only 
piece  of  statecraft  which  has  hs^ 
rassed  its  legislators.  The  easy  pro- 
cess of  confiscation,  we  regret  to  say, 
iras  twice  attempted,  but  of  course 
rejeeted  by  the  Crown.  The  Minis- 
try are  now  prepared,  at  a  certain 
rate,  to  redeem  these  properties,  giv- 
ing to  the  tenants  the  first  option 
of  purchasing  the  land  which  they 
hold,  and  it  is  likely  that  by  this 
means  the  element  of  absenteeism 
will  ere  long  be  eliminated. 

The  only  remaining  possession  to 
be  considered  in  connection  with  the 
maritime  group  is  Newfoundland, 
which,  excepting  the  single  episode 
of  Raleigh's  unsuccessful  attempt  in 
1 5^3  to  found  a  settlement  there, 
remained  in  the  same  state  of  neg- 
lect with  our  other  American  disco- 
veries till  1623,  when  Lord  Balti- 
more, with  a  little  band  of  emigrants, 
formed  thenuclensof  a  colony  which, 
thanks  to  periodical  remissions  of 
people  from  Ireland  and  England, 
hecame  sufficiently  powerful  to 
maintain  its  ground  against  a  rival 
planted  by  France  in  its  immediate 
vicinify.  The  frequent  collisions 
between  the  two  sets  of  settlers 
were  miserably  detrimental  to  both, 
and  Newfoundland  from  this  time 
never  can  be  said  to  have  known 
peace  until  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht, 
by  acknowledging  the  supremacy  of 
Cfreat  Britain  over  the  whole  island, 
reUeved  the  neighbours  of  the  duty 
of  quarrelling.  Yet  the  reservation 
by  France  of  three  islets,  at  the  very 

door  of  the  main  island,  and  a  share 
in  the  fisheries,  gave  rise  to  jea- 
lousies and  disputes  which  to  this 
day  are  not  buried.  The  area  of 
Newfoundland  is  about  40,000 
square  miles.  It  is  therefore  con- 
siderably larger  than  Ireland.  Its 
northernmost  point,  separated  from 
Labrador  by  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle, 
is  rather  to  the  south  of  Greenwich, 
whilst  its  southernmost  point, 
Cape  Bace,  nearly  corresponds  in  la- 
titude with  Geneva.  The  population 
of  about  150,000  are  confined  to  the 
coast,  and  their  wants  have  not  yet 
justified  the  construction  of  a  road 
through  the  interior — almost  as 
much  a  terra  incognita  as  Central 
Australia.  Cod  and  seal  occupy  the 
inhabitants,  and  these  creatures  and 
their  appurtenances  form  the  ex- 
ports, the  value  of  which,  taking  the 
mean  of  the  last  ten  years,  may  be 
rated  at  one  million  and  a  quar- 
ter sterling.  Under  the  head  of 
imports  to  this  fog-begirt  island  are 
included  several  of  the  necessaries 
of  life  ;  yet,  taking  the  same  range 
of  time,  their  average  price  closely 
balances  that  of  the  exports ;'  or,  in 
other  words,  the  comfort — even  the 
vitality — of  the  people  is  dependent 
upon  the  result  of  their  fislieries. 

That  such  a  situation,  and  in 
the  wildest  of  seas,  should  produce 
hardymarinersitisneedipRs  to  say,  or 
that  ship-building  should  be  Uieir 
principal  and  most  honoured  art.  But 
the  reader  may  not  be  prepared  to 
learn  that  a  population  of  less 
than  30,000  adult  malts  possesses 
a  thousand  fishing  ve.^sels  of  an 
average  capacity  of  50  tons,  amongst 
which  are  nine  steanui-s,  and  that 
in  addition  to  these  whole  fleets 
launched  from  the  iRland  are  en- 
gaged in  carrying  its  ]>!oduce  to 
different  parts  of  tln^  world,  and 
bringing  home  agairi  in  exchange 
the  various  objects  waiir<Mi  to  cheer 
the  community.  To  a!  I  this  ship- 
ping a  line  of  steanurs  must  be 
added  which  plies  Ix  tween  St. 
John's,  the  capital,  and  the  minor 
ports,  carries  the  mail.^  aud  other- 


The  Bommion  of  Ocmada, 

*    [February 

-wise    serves   the    different  setUe- 

Although  NewfoimcUand  is  the 
nearest  to  us  of  all  our  American 
possessions,  none  of  them  has  been 
so  much  isolated,  and  perhaps  on 
this  account  it  was  the  last  of  them 
to  pray  for  the  boon  or  the  burden 
of  responsible  government.  Its 
actual  constitution  has  had  a  trial 
of  seventeen  years,  and  the  ques- 
tion of  greatest  gravity  which  has 
occurred  to  the  Legislature  is,  whe- 
ther the  Island  should  or  should 
not  cast  its  lot  with  the  Dominion. 
In  the  spring  of  1 869,  the  local  As- 
sembly was  dissolved,  and  candidates 
sought  the  suffrages  of  their  con- 
stituents on  this  issue.  The  Minis- 
try, which  was  in  favour  of  union, 
had  already  arranged  the  terms 
with  the  Canadian  Cabinet,  which, 
as  they  were  favourable  to  the  is- 
landers, it  was  thought  and  be- 
lieved would  be  accepted  by  them. 
The  elections  took  place  in  the 
summer,  a  season  peculiarly  fa- 
vourable to  the  movements  of  cer- 
tain strangers  whose  private  in- 
terests conflicted  with  the  change, 
and  the  result  of  their  exertions 
amongst  the  fishermen  was  the  re- 
turn of  a  majority  of  two  members 
pledged  to  support  the  status  quo. 
Newfoundland,  therefore,  like  Prince 
Edward  Island,  still  retains  its 

The  machinery  of  government 
consists,  as  usual,  of  a  Governor  and 
two  houses — an  Upper  House,  or  Le- 
gislative Coxmcil,  of  1 5,  and  a  Lower 
House,  or  Assembly,  of  twice  that 
number.  The  advisers  of  the  Go- 
vernor, or  Executive  Council  must 
not  exceed  seven.  The  Governor, 
whose  patent  iforther  styles  him 
Yice-Admiral  and  Commander-in- 
Ohief,  has  jurisdiction  over  Labra- 
dor, where  a  few  fishermen  of 
French  and  British  descent,  a  rem- 
nant of  aborigines,  and  a  little  band 
of  missionaries  are  suppUed  with 
justice,  a  post-office,  and  an  appa- 
ratus for  the  collection  of  dues. 

After  this  digression  let  us  re- 

turn to  the  words  of  the  Queen's 
Speech  at  the  opening  of  Parlia- 
ment in  1859.  With  r^ard  to 
Colonial  affairs  it  announced  (i) 
the  erection  of  the  district  between 
the  Bocky  Mountains  and  the  Pa- 
cific into  a  Crown  Colony  under 
the  name  of  British  Columbia,  (2) 
the  projected  acquisition  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Territory,  which  was 
to  be  placed  under  a  similar  go- 
vernment, and  (3)  the  formation 
of  the  two  Canadas  and  the  mari- 
time provinces  in  one  federal  sys- 
tem. The  fiatll  two  months  later 
of  Lord  Derby's  Administration 
prevented  the  fulfilment  of  the  se- 
cond part  of  the  programme,  and 
postponed  that  of  the  third.  Then 
came  the  civil  war  in  America, 
which  seemed  so  to  absorb  all  the 
thoughts  of  our  statesmen  as  to 
leave  them  little  spirit  for  canying 
out  the  changes  in  our  territories, 
which  were  so  much  needed.  Not 
so  with  our  subjects  who  were  so 
much  nearer  the  scene  of  strife. 

In  1863  the  three  maritime  pro- 
vinces, Nova  Scotia,  New  Bruns- 
wick, and  Prince  Edward  Island, 
called  a  conference  at  Charlotte- 
town  for  the  discussion  not  of  a 
federal  but  a  legislative  union — 
that  is  to  say,  a  complete  incorpo- 
ration of  the  three  Colonies.  What 
might  have  been  the  result  it  is  not 
so  easy  to  say,  for  while  the  session 
was  in  progress  delegates  arrived 
from  Canada,  who  submitted  a 
wider  scheme;  the  Charlottetown 
meeting  was  dissolved,  and  in  the 
following  year  the  representa- 
tives of  the  four  coTUinental  colonies 
adopted  a  series  of  resolutions  which 
provided  for  a  federal  union.  These, 
afiber  a  few  modifications,  were 
accepted  by  the  Secretary  of  State, 
and  all  that  remained  to  ensure  the 
accomplishment  of  the  scheme  was 
the  consent  of  the  local  Legislatures. 
The  maritime  provinces,  by  an  ad- 
verse vote,showed  theirindisposition 
to  the  change,  or  their  dissatisfaction 
with  the  conditions,  and  confedera- 
tion was  for  a  moment  retarded. 


The  Bcymimon  of  Canada. 


Id  1866,  however,  the  LegislaioreB 
of  Nora  Scotia  and  New  Bnmswick 
were  more  agreeable,  and  in  the 
aotamn  of  that  year  the  leading 
ministers  of  the  four  colonies  arrived 
iu  London,  where,  in  conjunction 
with  the  Secretary  of  State,  they 
framed  the  Act  which  in  the  first 
week  of  the  session  of  1867  was 
introduced  by  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon, 
and  received  the  royal  assent  seven 
weeks  later.  The  labours  of  the 
Westminster  Conference — as  it  will 
be  remembered  in  history — ^being  at 
an  end,  the  Governor- General  of  the 
Dominion  was  able  to  announce  thia 
great  event  in  the  life  of  our  Ameri- 
can Empire,  and  on  the  ist  of  July, 
1867,  Lord  Monck  opened  the  first 
Federal  Parliament. 

The  principal  features  of  this  im- 
portant piece  of  legislation  deserves 
description.  After  repealing  the 
Act  of  Union  of  186 1,  it  proceeds 
to  empower  the  four  Colonies  of 
Ontario  (formerly  Upper  Canada), 
Quebec  (formerly  Lower  Canada), 
yora  Scotia,  and  New  Brunswick 
to  form  a  confederation  for  specific 
purposes,  each  province  retaining 
•0  much  of  autonomy  as  is  consistent 
with  the  general  working  of  the 
arger  scheme;  in  other  words,  being 
allowed  the  management  of  con- 
3ems  purely  domestic.  Thus  the 
iefences  of  the  country,  the  ad- 
ninistration  of  justice,  the  fisheries, 
;uston3  and  excise,  navigation 
>eyond  the  bounds  of  a  province, 
egislation  for  railways,  ca^ials,  and 
>ther  intercolonial  highways,  the 
K>st  office,  banking,  and  public 
rorks  and  buildings  connected  with 
he  welf&re  of  the  nation  belong  to 
he  central  authority.  On  the  other 
land,  the  Crown  Lands,  with  their 
ainerals  and  timber,  buildings  and 
borough&res  for  strictly  local  uses, 
he  police  and  the  whole  of  the 
lunicipal  organisation  are  pro- 
inciaL  Each  of  the  four  States 
9cei ves  forits  maintenance  from  the 
cderal  Treasury  a  definite  annual 
rant,  and  the  loans  contracted  by 
lie  maritime  States  anterior  to  1867 

are  guaranteed  by  the  Dominion. 
The  Federal  Parliament,  which  sits 
at  Ottawa,  is  composed  of  two 
Chambers — the  Senate,  created  by 
the  Crown  for  life  ;  and  the  House 
of  Commons,  the  aggregate  number 
of  members  in  each  being  defined. 
When  the  new  constitution  was 
launched,  the  Upper  House  con- 
tained 72  seats,  which  were  ap- 
portioned in  three  equal  divisions  to 
Ontario,  Quebec,  and  the  two  new 
comers.  Until  the  advent  of  Prince 
Edward  Island,  Nova  Scotia  and 
New  Brunswick  will  thus  each 
possess  twelve  Senators ;  afber  that 
desired  event  Prince  Edward 
tsland  will  be  represented  by  four, 
its  neighbours  on  either  side  making 
a  sacrifice  of  two.  In  the  case  of  a 
*  dead-lock'  the  Governor-General 
is  empowered  to  create  as  many 
additional  Senators  as  he  may  think 
fit,  not  exceeding  six,  so  that  the 
normal  House  numbered  72,  and 
could  never  exceed  78.  The  sub- 
sequent adhesion  to  the  Confedera- 
tion of  other  Colonies,  to  which 
reference  will  be  made,  has  sHghtly 
enlarged  the  strength  of  both  Houses 
of  Parliament. 

The  qualifications  for  a  Senator 
are,  that  he  shall  be  a  natural-born 
or  naturalised  subject  of  Her  Ma- 
jesty, full  thirty  years  of  age,  pos- 
sessed of  a  freehold  Yrithin  his 
province  of  the  clear  valuei  of  8oo2., 
that  his  real  and  personal  property 
together  be  wortii  the  same  sum, 
and  that  he  shall  be  a  resident  in  his 
province.  Should  he  at  any  time 
subsequent  to  his  appointment  be 
deficient  in  any  of  these  require- 
ments, or  become  a  bankrupt  or  a 
felon,  or  fail  without  good  cause  in 
his  attendance  during  two  consecu- 
tive sessions  of  Parliament,  he  for- 
feits his  seat.  The  President  or 
Speaker  of  the  Senate  is  named  by 
the  Crown. 

The  House  of  Commons  was 
limited  to  181  members:  82  for 
Ontario,  65  for  Quebec,  19  for  Nova 
Scotia,  and  15  for  New  Brunswick, 
these  figures  being  proportioned  to 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


the  popalations  of  the  several  pro- 
vinces at  the  epoch  of  the  Union. 
It  was  fxirther  enacted  that  after  the 
census  of  187 1,  and  every  subse- 
quent decennial  census,  Quebec 
always  retaining  the  constant  num- 
ber of  65,  such  a  redistribution  of 
seats  must  be  made  amongst  the 
other  Colonies  as  shall  be  war- 
ranted by  the  increase  in  population 
of  any  one  or  more  of  them  in  a 
greater  ratio  than  the  rest.  The 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons 
is  elected  by  the  House  ;  the  maxi- 
mum duration  of  Parliament  is  five 
years.  The  administration  of  the 
affairs  of  the  Dominion  is  vested  in 
a  Council  or  Cabinet  of  thirteen 
ministers,  who  have  seats  in  either 
House,  and  are  responsible  to  Par- 
liament for  their  actions.  When 
they  accept  office  they  are  sworn 
before  the  Governor- General  as 
members  of  *Her  Majesty's  Privy 
Council  for  Canada,'  a  distinction 
with  the  title  of  'Honourable,' 
which  they  retain  for  life.  In 
short,  in  almost  every  detail  the 
Constitution  of  the  Dominion  is 
modelled  after  the  English  original, 
and  the  forms  and  decorum  of  the 
Canadian  House  of  Commons  might 
make  a  stranger  who  was  suddenly 
introduced  to  its  sittings  wonder 
whether  he  were  at  Ottawa  or 

These  outward  observances  should 
never  be  lightly  regarded.  Proper 
ceremony,  a  rigid  rule  with  regard 
to  courtesy  in  debate,  and  implicit 
deference  to  the  Chair,  impose  a 
tone  without  which  an  assembly  of 
legislators  or  disputants  degenerates 
in  self-respect,  and,  consequently, 
in  a  great  measure  fails  to  fulfil  the 
object  for  which  it  was  called  into 

Miniatures  of  the  great  Parlia- 
ment, the  local  assemblies  meet  re- 
spectively at  Toronto,  Quebec,  Fre- 
dericton,  and  HaJifeix  in  the  winter 
of  every  year,  when  the  Treasurer 
or  Finance  Minister  disposes  of  his 
grant,  the  Commissioner  of  Crown 
Lands  reports  the  progress  of  their 

survey  and  their  value,  and  the 
other  members  of  the  little  Cabinet 
give  an  account  of  their  several  de- 
partments. In  three  of  the  provinces 
we  find  a  Lieutenant-Governor  and 
two  Houses.  In  Ontario  alone  a  single 
Chamber  is  convened.  This  anomaly 
seems  to  be  distasteful,ltnd  it  is  to 
be  desired  that  it  may  soonjsease. 

Such  is  the  form  of  g6veniment 
of  a  country  of  considerably  wider 
area  than  France  and  tbe  Britisli 
Isles  combined,  and  which  in  a 
single  century  has  shown  an  increase 
from  60,000  or  70,000 to  3,500,000  of 
souls.  The  decennial  censuses  of  the 
United  States,  while  they  gauge  the 
vast  inpourings  from  Europe,  reveal 
the  &ct  that  the  descendants  of 
settlers  of  former  generations  are  as 
a  rule  far  less  proHfic  than  the  new- 
comers. To  Uanada  Great  Briiain 
has  never  supplied  an  emigration 
commensurate  with  that  w^hich  it 
has  given  to  other  parts  of  the 
world,  and  the  indisposition  of  the 
French  to  expatriate  themselves 
even  to  their  own  colonies  is  so 
great,  that  the  presence  of  a  large 
body  of  their  former  countrymen  in 
Quebec  has  not  proved  a  sufficient 
attraction  to  them.  Yet  the  40,000 
subjects  who  reverted  to  the  Crown 
of  England  at  the  epoch  of  the  con- 
quest have  developed  themselv^ 
into  fully  1,000,000,  an  instance  of 
fecundity  which  must  astound  the 
reader  who  has  not  visited  the  ha- 
bitant and  the  habitante  with  their 
family  of  from  1 5  to  25  children.  Nor 
can  any  complaint  be  made  in  this 
respect  of  our  own  countrymen, who 
have  multiplied  at  a  ratio  far  ex- 
ceeding that  of  any  country  in 

Taking  the  four  Colonies, — 
during  the  second  quarter  of  the 
present  century,  before  which  con- 
temporaneous estimates  are  not  to 
be  found,  their  population  increased 
from  758,000  to  over  2,300,000,  or 
became  more  than  doubled  ;  during 
the  next  20  years  this  lax^e  number  ! 
has  been  further  increased  by  ! 
1,200,000,  so  that  in  the  year  1S75, 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


exact}/  half  a  century  from  the 
first  daift,  the  population  should 
hare  qaiatupled.  And  it  is  worth 
mentioning^  bj  the  way,  as  a  curious 
coincidence,  that  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  American  Civil  War  the  num- 
ber of  the  inhabitants  of  British 
North  America  was  as  nearly  as 
possible  equal  to  that  of  the  United 
States  when  their  independence 
was  acknowledged. 

TheTarious  creeds  arerepresenied 
nearlj  in  the  following  proportion : 
The  Chnrch  of  Rome,  45  per  cent, 
of  the  irhole  people ;  the  Church  of 
Eogiaod,  the  Presbyterians,  and  the 
^thodists,  almost  evenly  balanced, 
come  to  as  many  more ;  and  allow- 
ing the  larger  proportion  of  the  re- 
mainder to  t^e  Baptists,  4  per  cent, 
are  left  for  Lutherans  and  other  de- 

To  trace  the  progress  of  the 
revenne  is  not  less  curious.  Its 
elasticitj,  owing  to  the  rapid  in- 
crease of  people,  is  so  great  that 
lialf  a  million  sterling  could  be 
added  to  the  annual  debt  without 
altering  the  burden  per  caput. 
When  the  Dominion  commenced 
its  career  its  debt  was  about 
i6,ooo,oooZ.,  requiring  an  interest 
of  nearly  900,000/.  The  first  year 
brought  a  surplus  of  300,000?. 
orer  an  expenditure  of  more  than 
three  millions  and  a  quarter;  and  in 
spite  of  the  many  subsequent  and 
heavy  drains  on  the  national  purse, 
tlie  financial  prosperity  of  the  coun- 
try has  continued  without  a  reverse. 
Custom  and  excise  supply  two- 
thirds  of  the  revenue,  and  the  re- 
mainder oomes  from  loans,  public 
worlcs,  and  miscellaneous  imposts. 
Sxports  and  imports  are  most 
conveniently  arranged  under  three 
heads:  I.  Products  of  the  earth, 
including  (i)  animals  and  their 
produce;  (2)  cereals,  vegetables 
and  vegetable  extracts  of  all  kinds ; 

(3)  timber,  fruits,  turpentine,  Ac. ; 

(4)  metals  and  minerals  of  every 
dwcription.  II.  Products  of  the 
^ater,   viz.     fish,      oil,     isinglass, 


whalebone,  and  all  these  creatures 
yield.     IIL  Manufactures. 

Animals,  their  hides,  furs,  and 
wool ;  butter,  cheese,  feathers,  and 
eggs ;  com,  flour,  and  peas ;  timber 
of  many  kinds  and  forms ;  copper 
ore  and  petroleum ;  these,  and  fish, 
furnish  the  exports  of  the  Dominion, 
which  in  the  last  two  years 
have  amounted  in  value  to 
11,500,000^.  The  imports,  which 
during  the  same  period  represent 
13,000,0002.,  consist  chiefly,  as  may 
be  supposed,  of  manufactured  arti- 
cles, and  luxuries  of  many  descrip- 
tions. The  principal  customers  of 
Canada  are  the  United  States,  who 
take  57  per  cent,  of  the  whole 
exports,  against  34  per  cent,  which 
go  to  England.  In  the  matter  oi 
demand,  however, we  exactly  change 
places,  England  furnishing  57  per 
cent.,  and  the  United  States  34  per 
cent.  France,  Portugal,  Spain, 
others  of  our  Colonies,  and  South 
America  traffic  with  Canada  in  the 
remainder  of  her  wares,  and  meet 
the  remainder  of  her  wants. 

It  has  been  already  remarked 
that  BO  late  as  1850  not  a  single 
railway  existed  in  British  North 
America.  The  number  of  miles 
now  in  working  order  may  be  esti- 
mated at  nearly  3,000.  The  road 
connecting  EUdiiax  and  New  Bruns- 
wick with  Quebec  is  rapidly  pro- 
gressing, and  several  other  lines 
are  in  the  course  of  construction. 
The  postal  service  is  admirably 
conducted,  extending  to  the  small- 
est and  most  distant  settlements, 
the  uniform  cost  of  an  ordinary 
letter  being  three  half-pence.  The 
development  of  the  telegraph,  due 
entirely  to  private  enterprise,  is 
even  more  remarkable.  There  is 
scarcely  a  village  to  which  it  does 
not  penetrate,  although  the  wires 
may  be  driven  scores  of  miles 
through  wilderness  or  forest. 

The  mercantile  navy  comprises 
over  7,000  vessels,  of  an  aggregate 
value  of  more  than  7,ooo,ooo2.  and 
1,000,000  tonnage,  and  there  are 



The  JDommion  of  Canada, 


few  enterprises  of  ^liich  Canada 
may  be  more  prond  than  the  esta- 
blishment  of  that  great  fieet  of  mail- 
Steamers  which  maintain  a  weekly 
interconrse  with-  Great  Britain. 
'Bangmg  firom  2,006  to  4,000  tons, 
with  proportionate  horse-ppwerj 
they  rival  in  regularity  and  com- 
fort the  &tnons  '  Canarders,'  Which 
for  many  years  mUd  the  Atlantic. 
Without  a  subsidy  such  a  service 
as  the  AUan  line  could  not  be  con- 
ducted with  punctuality;  the  Do- 
ininion  Government  willingly  sub- 
scribe 6o,oooL  a.yeai^,  to  secure  the 
enormous  benefits  of  a  rapid  and 
"regular  intercourse  with  the  busiest 
part  of  the  world.  Nor  is  this  the 
only  outlay  of  the  kind.  The  mari- 
time provinces  have  to  be  remem- 
bered,' and  the  steamers  which  run 
between  Quebec  and  Halifax,  touch- 
ing at  the  different  ports,  likewise 
-receive  their  present.  The  business 
of  the  navigation  of  the  rivers  and 
^akeSy  themselves  seas,  is  too  lucra- 
tive to  need  support,  for  during 
half  the  year  these  waters  carry 
-the  whole  of  mankind  and  no  in- 
considerable portion  of  their  i^ealth. 

Thus  launched  on  her  new  career, 
it  was  natural  that  Canada  should 
.hasten  to  accomplish  her  destiny. 
Already  a  great  Atlantic  State,  if 
she  once  obtained  the  Pacific  sea- 
board, and  the  vast  intervening 
plains,  it  seemed  difficult  to  over- 
estimate the  greatness  of  her  future. 
The  first  object  to  be  gained  were 
the  territories  of  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company,  which  are  so  enormous 
that  they  may  be  said  to  cover  an 
extent  equal  to  the  whole  of  Europe. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
British  Empire  was  the  existence 
of  two  sovereign  Companies  who 
conquered  and  ruled  regions  that 
were  worlds  compared  with  the 
little  islands  from  which  they 
derived  their  license. 

Almost  simultaneously  two  char- 
ters were  issued  by  King  Charles  II., 
the  one  to  a  body  of  merchants, 
empowering  them  to  do  what  they 
thought  fit  in  the  Indies ;  the  other, 

as  the  document  runs,  giving  Hbe 
Governor  and  Company  of  Adven- 
turers trading  into  Hudson's  Baj 
all  the  lands  and  territories  upoa 
the  countries^  coasts,  and  confines 
of  the   seas,  bays,    lakes,  rivers, 
creeks,  and  sounds,  in  whatsoeter 
latitude    they    shlkU    be,    that  be 
within   the  entrance  of  Hudson's 
Straits,  that  are  not  actually  pos- 
sessed by  or  granted  to  any  of  our 
subjects,  or  possessed  by  the  sab- 
jects  of  i^ny  other  Christian  Prince 
or  State.^     The  former,  who  bad 
to  combat  a-  great  Asiatic  power, 
and  climates  many  of  them  deadJj 
to  the  European,  won  for  us  step 
by  step    what   is    now   the  most 
splendid  appanage  of  any  crown. 
Besides  the  difficulties  opposed  bj 
nature,  these  merchant  princes  most 
deal  with  a  host  of  races,  some  of 
them  as  warlike  as  ourselves,  and 
administer  to  millions  and  millions 
whose  varied  habits,  and  antagonis- 
tic creeds,  required  the  peipetoal 
vigilance  and  attention  of  ilie  con- 
querors. During  near  two  oentnria 
did  this  sinrsmgeimpenu'minimp^To 
subsist,  which,  in  spite  of  certain 
mistakes  and  injustices,  inseparable 
perhaps   from  ih^   task    and  tbe 
times,  has  left  a  trace  in  history  of 
•  which  we  may  be  justly  proud,  and 
to  which  future  ages  and  people 
will  look  back  with  admiration. 

A  work  more  different  in  every 
respect  cannot  well  be  conceived 
than  that  of  the  sister  Companr, 
but  the  account  she  has  been  able 
to  render,  though  not  so  dazzling  to 
the  eye  or  so  fascinating  to  tuc 
imagination,  is  not  less  honourable 
to  British  energy  and  endnranc^ 
than  the  brilliant  achievements  of 
the  Nabobs.  The  first  measure  of 
the  *  adventurers  *  who  preferrei 
the  colder  parts  of  the  earth  \nis 
to  establish  stations  at  intervals 
along  the  shores  of  Hudson's  Baj, 
capable  of  containing  a  small  num- 
ber of  Europeans  and  snfficientlj 
strong  to  shelter  them  from  the 
possible  attacks  of  the  natives. 
Fishing,   trapping,   hunting,  the 


The  Domnion  of  Oanada, 


coIIectHm  of  fars,  ftnd  the  explora- 
tion of  tiiecountiywaa  to  be  their 
bnaiB^s.  In  those  days  the  Indians 
were  more  nnmeroas  than  thej  now 
are.    Many  'nations,'  as  they  are 
styled,  occupied  the  interior,  and 
roamed  at  r^tdar  seasons  to  the 
coast    With  these  the  settlers  soon 
made  acquaintance,  and  established 
an  interoonrse  which  lessened  their 
labours  and  greatly  increased  their 
gains.    Knires  and  nicknaoks  from 
home  were  exchanged  for  valuable 
fars,  and  their  new  friends  soon 
tangiit  the  white  men  many  things 
jvhkh  made  life  less  of  a  burden  in 
ttat  frozen  waste.     With  tho  help 
of  tbe  Indians,   too,  the  colonists 
made  expeditions,  so  that  the  Go- 
vernor was    able    to    report    dis- 
coreries.     Yet  for  a  long  time  it 
does  not  appear  that  they  penetrated 
rery  far,  or  at  all  events  that  ad- 
\ai^fcage  was  taken  of  such  know- 
ledge as  they  may  have  acquired. 
A  few  degrees  farther  to  the  south 
France  was  more  active,   for  pio- 
neers and  missionaries    were  tra- 
versing tho  continent,  and  curious 
.stories  would  occasionally  reach  the 
English  of  Hudson's    Bay  of  an- 
other race  of  pale  faces  not  veiy  far 
&om  them.    These  rumours  excited 
rompetition,     and    the    geography 
was  sufficiently  understood   when 
the  rectification   of   frontiers    oc- 
curred in  1763  for  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  to  claim  and  obtain 
the  whole  watershed   inclining  to 
the   north — ^the  tract  which  they 
still  held  in  1869. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last 
century  its  operations  became  more 
<iCveIoped ;  posts  or  forts  were  es- 
tablished along  the  rivers,  by  the 
lakes,  and  in  other  spots  where  ex- 
perience taught  them  that  game 
most  abounded  ;  larger  supplies  of 
commodities  were  sent  from  Eng- 
land for  barter  with  the  Indians, 
^nd  business,  in  short,  was  con- 
•lacted  on  a  much  more  extended 
liut  they   were  not  allowed  to 

conduct  it  undisturbed.  The  French, . 
who  were  the  pioneers,  and  knew  the 
virtues  of  the  country,  continued  to 
hunt  and  traffic,  and,  abetted  by 
men  of  substance  in  Lower  Canada, 
•carried  some  of  the  best  prizes 
from  the  '  adventurers '  of  Leaden- 
hall  Street.  In  vain  did  the  latter 
appeal  to  the  Charter  which  gave 
them  a  monopoly  of  commerce ; 
their  rivals  replied  that  if  they  were 
not  satisfied,  they  might  eject  them 
by  force,  and  the  heart  of  North 
America  was  at  that  time  too  &r 
from  London  to  captivate  the  atten- 
tion of  the  minister  for  war.  The 
English  and  the  French  thus  left  to 
themselves,  like  their  countrymen 
in  other  parts  of  the  world,  settled 
their  own  differences,  and  taught 
many  a  sad  lesson  to  the  Aborigines. 
Powder  and  ball  often  took  their 
effect  upon  the  former,  liquorthinned 
and  demortklised  the  latter. 

One  high-minded  and  far-seeing 
man,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
present  century,  whose  position  as 
member  of  the  Council  or  Board 
of  Management  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  filled  him  with 
keen  interest  in  these  distant 
realms,  suggested  that  so  large  a 
space  was  capable  of  better  ends 
than  the  mere  breeding  of  wild 
beasts,  and  proposed  colonisation, 
offering,  at  his  own  expense,  to  pur- 
chase a  tract  of  land  and  try  the 
experiment.  From  a  barren  region 
of  Scotland  emigrants  were  easily 
found  ready  to  exchange  their 
present  home  for  the  meadows 
of  the  Red  River.  Landing  at 
York  Factory,  they  proceeded  to 
their  allotments,  where,  after  many 
vicissitudes  —  being  harassed  by 
the  French  and  pillaged  by  the 
Lidians,  who,  incited  by  the 
former,  resented  this  new  encroach- 
ment on  their  hunting  grounds, 
they  formed  a  settlement  which  was 
destined  to  become  the  nucleus  of 
European  enterprise  in  the  Far  West. 
The  emigration  took  place  in  181 1, 
but  in  1 8 16,  an  unfortunate  collision 

M  2 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


betvfeen  the  Hudson's  Bay  and  the 
*  North  -  West '  people  —  for  the 
rivals  of  the  former  had  for  some 
time  constituted  themselves  into  a 
regular  company — in  which  Mr. 
Semple,  the  English  Gt>vemor  was 
killed,  gave  their  enemies  again 
such  an  ascendency  that,  with  the 
loss  of  most  of  their  property,  they 
were  compelled  to  disperse  from 
their  new  homes.  Lord  Selkirk 
happened  to  be  in  Canada  at  the 
time  planning  a  visit  to  his  colonists, 
and  no  sooner  did  the  news  reach 
him  of  a  catastrophe  which  threat- 
ened a  regular  blood-feud*  between 
the  British  and  the  French,  the 
destruction  of  his  favourite  scheme, 
and  the  suspension  of  the  business 
of  the  Company,  than,  enrolling  a 
band  of  pensioners,  he  started  to 
the  relief  of  the  Red  River  Settle- 
ment. The  journey  before  him  was 
long  and  arduous,  and  besides  war- 
like materials  and  supplies  for  the 
sufferers  every  article  of  consumption 
had  to  be  carried.  The  first  section  of 
the  way  led  some  300  miles  np  the 
Ottawa,  thence  by  rivers  and  lakes 
to  Georgian  Bay — &  recess  of  Huron 
— ^and  so  to  Lake  Superior,  which 
must  be  completely  traversed  in 
order  to  gain  the  estuary  of  the 
River  EZaministiquia^the  infant 
St.  Lawrence.  The  mode  of  travel 
was  in  great  canoes  constructed 
of  birch  bark,  and  so  light  that 
their  crew  could  carry  them,  yet  of 
such  capacity  that,  besides  travellers 
and  eight  or  ten  paddlers,  they 
were  able  to  contain  a  considerable 

Wherever,  owing  to  long  reaches 
of  rapids  and  cataracts,  the  rivers 
become  impassable,  the  craft  was 
unloaded,  and  transported  with  its 
effects  to  the  nearest  spot  where  it 
could  be  launched  again  with  advan- 
tage. This  tedious  process  might 
have  to  be  repeated  several  times  in 
the  day,  the  length  of  the  'portages,' 
varying  from  a  few  hundred  yards  to 
several  miles.  The  dexterity  with 
which  the  Indians  and  the  voyageurs 
manage  their  canoes  is  admirable  ; 

the  course  most  be  impossible  be- 
fore they  forsake  it,  and  the  pas- 
senger who  begins  by  shuddering  at 
the  foaming  water  and  the  rocks 
before  him,  soon  learns  to  find  a! 
keen  enjoyment  in    shooting    thei 
rapids.     So  great,  too,  is  the  buoj-| 
ancy  of  these  boats  of  bark,  tl^t| 
they  will  cross  the  fresh  water  seas; 
in  a  gale    which  would    try    thej 
mettle  of  many  an  old  salt  in  a 
very  different  kind  of  vessel.     Hav- 
ing  completed   in  safety  the  first 
part   of  his  voyage,  Lord  Selkirk 
landed  about  a  mile  up  the  £[ami- 
nistiquia,  where  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal establishments  of  the  North- 
West  Company  had  been  planted. 
The  sight  of  his  overwhelming 
force  put  its  inhabitants  on  their 
good  behaviour,  but  Lord  Selkirk'^ 
indignation  against  their  employers 
was  not  to  be  appeased  by  a  fev 
civilities;  so  he  seized  the  fort,  and 
made  prisoners  of  all  within  it.  Ear- 
ing taught  them  this  first  lesson^ 
he  embarked  upon  the  second  and 
more  difBcnlt  haJf  of  his  journey. 
Henceforth,  on  both  sides,  the  riTO- 
was  lined  by  forests,  and  wherever 
a  portage  occurred,  in  addition  to  ' 
the  ordinary  trouble,  trees  must  be  I 
felled  and  removed  so  as  to  open  a 
sufficient  passage.     Ten  or  twelve 
days  brought  him  to  the  height  ot 
land   where  that  peculiar   pheno- 
menon is  seen  (repeated  more  thai 
once  in  America),  of  the  sources- 
only  a  rifle-shot  apart — of  two  rivers 
flowing  in  different  directions,  and 
furrowing  the  entire  continent    A 
Uttle  bubbling  lake,  on  either  side, 
seems  to  be  the  origin  of  the  great 
system  of  inland  seas  and  the  St. 
Lawrence,  navigable  from  its  montK 
to  Chicago  and  Fond  du  Lac ;  and 
of  a  series  of  lakes,  ending  in  Wini- 
peg,   strung  together   by  a  river, 
known  by  various  local  names,  which 
ultimately  reaches  the  sea  in  Hud- 
son's Bay.     Whenever,  in  his  pro- 
gress.  Lord  Selkirk  came  upon  a 
hostile  station,  he  took  it.    One  was 
by  the  Rainy  Lake,  another  on  tbe 
north  side  of  the  Lake  of  the  Wood* 


Ths  Dominion  of  Canada, 


--ihai  mosi  weird  and  faiiy-like  of 
til  imaginable  scenes,  so  studded 
vith  wooded  islands,  literally  in  my- 
riads, that  only  the  practised  pilot 
ean  find  his  way  amongst  them. 
Then  descending  the  Winipeg,  the 
most  predpitons  of  all  those  riyers, 
he  reached  the  lake  of  that  name, 
menaced  and  qnickly  captured  all 
his  enemies*  posts  on  the  Ked  Biver, 
and  filled  the  Hudson's  Bay  people 
and  his  poor  Scotch  emigrants  with 
rejoicing.  To  us  quiet-going  Eng- 
lish, in  1872,  Lord  Selkirk's  daring 
and  high-handed  policy  seems  awful ; 
bat  if  the  Canadian  courts,  which 
were  natarally  most  biassed,  as- 
sessed him  in  damages,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  his  prompt  action 
pat  an  end  to  anarchy,  saved  blood- 
shed and  misery,  and  vindicated  the 
rights  that  the  Company  of  which 
he  was  one  of  the  rulers  was  not 
ooly  licensed  but  bound  to  assert. 

Indeed,  from  the  moment  of  his 
aiTiTalmustbe  dated  the  tranquillity 
of  the  mixed  community  of  Rupert's 
Land,  and  the  real  foundation  of  the 
first  colony  in  a  region  which,  before 
another  century  is  past,  is  likely  to 
coant  its  millions.  After  estabHsh- 
inj^  order,  Lord  Selkirk's  first  act 
was  to  obtain  from  the  Indians,  in 
return  for  certain  presents  and  an- 
nuities, the  formal  title  to  the  pro- 
perty which  he  had  purchased  in 
London.  The  deed,  with  the  totems 
or  crests  of  the  cliiefs  attached  to 
it  as  signatures,  is  an  interesting 
document,  and  is  still  preserved  at 
Fort  Garry,  the  metropolitan  station 
of  the  Company.  Having  made  a 
friendship  with  the  natives,  which 
has  never  since  been  interrupted, 
he  further  succeeded  by  Avise  mea- 
sures in  conciliating  tiie  French, 
and  in  182 1  the  last  incentive  to 
animosity  between  the  two  white 
races  was  removed  by  the  absorp- 
tion  of  the  North-West  into  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

In  1826  this  remarkable  man, 
whose  foresight  and  care  have  borne 
inich  valuable  fruits  in  our  day, 
died,  and  his  estates  at  Bed  Biver 

were  again  acquired  by  the  Com- 
pany. The  events  of  the  next  forty 
years  require  but  a  few  words.  The 
colony,  both  from  internal  and  ex- 
ternal sources,  grew  until  it  num- 
bered, in  1869,  about  12,000  souls. 
Generally  speaJdng,  the  British  and 
their  descendants,  partly  of  pure  race 
and  partly  mixed  with  the  Lidian, 
occupy  the  western  bank  of  the 
river,  the  French  and  their  half- 
breeds  the  eastern.  The  former, 
more  than  the  latter,  devote  them- 
selves to  the  cultivation  of  a  soil 
which  is  so  rich  that  rotation  of 
crops  is  not  needed.  In  a  good 
year — perhaps  one  in  four — the  re- 
turns remind  one  of  Egypt ;  in  the 
other  three  many  disappointments 
occur,  the  long  winters  and  the 
locusts  being  the  principal  ene- 
mies, the  severity  of  the  first  will 
be  mitigated,  and  the  second  will 
vanish  with  the  presence  of  people. 
The  French  and  the  Franco-Indians, 
on  the  other  hand,  devote  them- 
selves more  particularly  to  the 
chase,  and  when  bisons  were  nume- 
rous and  not  very  distant,  they  may 
bo  said  to  have  famished  the  meat, 
while  the  British  found  the  bread ; 
clothes,  tea,  sugar,  tobacco,  and 
other  luxuries  being  imported  an- 
nually from  England  by  Hudson's 
Bay.  But  this  primitive  state  of 
things  could  not  last  for  ever.  The 
bison  becoming  scarcer  every  year, 
is  not  to  be  found  in  herds  within 
three  weeks'  journey  of  the  settle- 
ment, and  the  domestic  cattle 
brought  from  home,  which  flourish 
upon  the  exuberant  pastures  of  the 
prairie,  and  maintain  themselves 
perfectly  through  the  hardest  winter, 
are  taking  the  place  of  the  wild 
cow,  and  will  one  day  be  a  fund  of 
wealth  to  the  country.  As  the 
population  of  the  world  increases 
the  call  for  meat  will  not  be  less 
loud  than  that  for  grain,  and  Bu- 
pert's  Land  may  well  be  contented 
if  it  becomes,  as  its  capabilities 
point  that  it  should  become,  the 
great  emporium  of  animal  food.  Yet 
the  lands  of  the  Bed  Biver,  healthy 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


i^d  well-&yoiired  as  they  are,  mast 
not  be  taken  as  the  best  tjrpe  of 
that  gigantic  countiy. 

The  banks  of  the  Sisk&tchewan 
though  more  to  the  north  are 
better  adapted  to  culture,  and 
many  other  tracts  as  men  move 
westward  will  be  found  to  be  as 
productive  as  some  of  the  ftir- 
ther  American  states.  The  Peace 
Baver  which  rises  in  latitude  56, 
thanks  to  its  proximity  to  the  Paci- 
fic, enjoys  so  mild  a  temperature, 
that  Sir  John  Franklin  found  wild 
flowers  in  full  bloom  on  its  banks 
in  the  early  spring,  so  that  with 
its  various  winter  climates  and 
soils,  and  the  extreme  heat  of  its 
summer,  North  America  forms  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  adjacent 
continent  of  Siberia.  The  princi- 
pal rivers  are  the  Siskatchewan  and 
the  Asiniboine,  which  take  their 
rise  fron^.the  Bocky  HountaLos  or 
its  spurs ;  the  Athabasca ;  the 
Peace  Biver;  and  the  great  Mac- 
kenzie, whose  estuary  is  in  the  Arc* 
tic  Circle.  Excepting  the  Asini- 
boine,  which  is  uniformly  shallow, 
all  these  streams  are  navigable,  with 
very  few  interruptions,  removable 
at  a  moderate  cost,  abnost  to  their 
source.  When  steam  is  introduced 
an  improvement  which  will  take 
place  during  the  present  year,  they 
will  become  the  permanent  high- 
ways, and  the  outfits  as  they  are 
technically  called,  which  from  the 
farthest  points  have  not  been  bring- 
ing a  return  to  the  senders  under  six 
or  seven  years,  will  be  exchanged  for 
furs  which  will  be  sold  in  the  Lon- 
don market  within  a  third  of  that 
period.  Of  the  Lakes,  the  most  re- 
markable are  Winipeg  and  ^he 
neighbouring  system  of  Manituba 
and  Winip^gosis,  separated  only  by 
a  short  stream,  the  two  Slave  Ijakes 
and  the  Great  Bear  Lake.  Besides 
these  great  arteries,  and  reservoirs, 
many  portions  of  the  prairie  are  in- 

tersected by  streams,  which  dig- 
nified in  the  language  'of  the 
New  World  only  by  the  name  of 
creeks,  would  in  Europe  be 
considered  important  rivers.  These 
and  numerous  lakelets  dotted 
about,  are  fringed  with  inc 
trees,  of  which  the  oak,  the  pop- 
lar, and  the  maple,  and,  in  sandj 
places  the  fir,  are  the  most  promiiieiit. 
Patches  of  woods  or  coverts  also 
contribute  to  the  beauiy  of  tkt 
undulating  plain,  and  harbour  end- 
less supplies  of  fruits  of  many 
varieties  and  of  excellent  flavour. 
The  prairie  fires,  due  generaUy  to  the 
carelessness  of  the  Indians  or  the 
huntsmen  are  the  great  devastators 
of  the  trees,  but  as  settlements  Bprbg 
up  at  close  intervals,-  this  great 
waste  may  be  checked,  and  the  en- 
couragement of  vegetation  will  mo- 
dify and  soften  the  climateJ 

Such,  then,  is  the  aspect  of  a 
country,  so  well  adapted  for  the 
abode  of  man  but  uninhabited  and 
desolate,  which  Canadian  statesmen 
felt  assured  should  be  added  to  the 
Dominion.  In  the  winter  of  186S 
the  final  negotiations  were  made 
with  the  Company  for  its  surrender, 
Sir  George  Gartier  and  Mr.  Mac- 
dougall  being  the  Plenipoteutianes, 
and  in  the  following  March  the 
terms  were  signed  and  sanctioned 
by  the  Grown,  In  return  for  the 
cession  of  their  sovereign  rights, 
the  Company  were  to  reoeWe 
300,0002.  in  money,  one  twentieth 
of  the  soil  in  fee-simple,  lying  be- 
tween the  Sisk&tchewan  and  the 
American  frontier ;  they  woTe  to 
retain  their  forts  and  buldings, 
and  the  land  they  had  already  oc- 
cupied around  these ;  the  right,  bat 
of  course  not  the  exclusive  rights 
to  trade,  and  some  minor  advan- 
tages. Formal  possession  was  to 
be  taken  by  Canada  on  the  ist  of 
Kovember,  1867,  fi:tnn  which  data 
the  Company  were  to  be  fireed  toii 

*  For  a  dascription  of  Bed  RiTer,  And  the  North  W«st»  toad  Boss's  book,  Haignrf^ 
JR^  Biver,  Butler^s  Great  Lone  Land,  and  Parliamentaiy  papan  pnsentod  «t  intcnrdK 
between  i860  and  1872. 


TJie  Dominion  of  Ccmada, 


al]  the  dnties  of  admimstratioii,  and 
were  to  lapse  into  the  position  of  a 
mediatised  State.  It  was,  however, 
eriJent  tliat  with  their  excellent 
and  long^established  machinery  and 
organisation,  their  intimate  know- 
ledge of  the  countiy,  and  perfect 
nnderstanding  with  ,the  natives,  the 
Gorenmient  must  for  a  long  time 
coaat  upon  their  goodwill  and  co- 
operation in  dealing  with  those 
parts  of  it  which  ahonld  be  remote 
&om  a  colony. 

Eveiything  now  seemed  fairly 
settled.  The  Dominion,  at  a  sacri- 
fice necessarily,  but  small  compared 
mih  the  aathoriiy  she  gaine(^  had 
secured  her  wish;  and  the  Com- 
paoj  had  not  only  made  a  good 
bargain,  hut  was  henceforth  to 
shake  off  those  troubles  and  anxie- 
ties of  its  former  position  which, 
had  an  emigration  set  in  from 
Canada,  would  have  so  increased  as 
to  overtax  its  strength.  Unhappily 
insufficient  pains  were  taken  to 
explain  to  those  whose  &te  was 
concerned  the  exact  nature  of  the 
change,  and  rumours  more  and 
more  distorted  from  the  truth,  as 
they  travelled  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
penetrated  in  such  a  form  to  the  little 
community,  that  it  was  not  difficult 
for  a  few  mischievous  and  intrig^uing 
spirits  to  spread  a  belief  amongst 
the  more  excitable  natures  that  the 
people  had  been  sold  like  so  many 
^  of  cattle.  No  one,  indeed, 
^^ished  for  the  change.  Under  the 
rule  of  the  Company  all  had  en- 
joyed happiness  and  perfect  free- 
dom, whilst  the  only  tribute  ex- 
acted of  them  was  a  small  duty  on 

TaxatioD,  the  alarmists  or  in- 
cendiaries preached,  would  now 
debar  them  the  comforts  of  life,  and 
the  French  were  informed  that  ihe 
Church  herself  would  be  in  danger 
at  the  hands  of  the  Dominion — an 
iuu!aIled-for  fear,  considering  that 
nearly  half  the  Canadians  belonged 
to  the  Church  of  Eome.  The  ma- 
jority, however,  it  is  fiur  to  say, 
influoieed  by  those  who  gave  them- 

selves the  trouble  to  think  and  en- 
quire, wero  satisfied  that  with  the 
rapid  progress  in  Minnesota  their 
seclusion  could  not  be  long  main- 
tained, and  as  England  refused  to 
adopt  them  directly^  their  only  al- 
ternative was  to  be  included  in 
Canada.  If  taxes  should  augment, 
so  would  commerce,  and  in  the  end 
they  would  be  none  the  poorer. 
Great  curiosity  existed  amongst  all 
as  to  the/orm  of  Government  to  be 
imposed  upon  them.  At  the  present 
a  Governor  appointed  by  the  Board, 
and  a  Council  of  twenty-four,  taken 
from  the  leading  inhabitants,  man- 
aged afifairs,  Canada  proposed  to 
reduce  this  number  to  five,  all,  or 
nearly  all,  of  whom  were  to  be 
strangers.  In  a  small  sphere  the  dig- 
nity of  office  is  perhaps  even  more 
cherished  than  in  a  larger  one,  and 
the  contemplated  alteration,  however 
necessaiy  and  compulsoiy,  was  sure 
tooccasionacertain  amount  of  heart- 
burning. This  could  not  be  helped, 
and  if  a  little  coldness  was  exhibited 
at  first,  a  Gt)vemor  with  tact  ought 
soon  to  dispel  it.  Such  was  the  situ- 
ation of  affairs  at  the  end  of  Au- 
gust, and  at  that  time  no  appre^ 
hension  of  disturbance  was  felt.  In 
September  it  was  known  that  Mr. 
Macdougall  was  to  be  the  new  Go- 
vernor, at  the  end  of  October  that 
he  was  approaching.  Then  a  young 
man  named  Biel  came  forward,  who 
had  evidently  been  plotting  in  se- 
cret^ and  whose  powers  of  speech 
won  for  him  great  ascendency  over 
the  more  ignorant  of  his  hearers. 
'  If  we  admit  the  governor  we  shaU 
be  enslaved,*  was  his  theme,  and  at 
the  head  of  a  party  of  hot-headed 
horsemen  he  galloped  to  the  frontier 
and  opposed  the  entry  of  Mr. 
Macdougall,  who,  arriving  from  the 
American  side,  was  of  course  unac- 
companied by  an  escort.  This  en- 
couraged what  we  may  call  the 
noisy  party  to  further  action.  The 
establishments  and  efiects  of  the 
Hudson^B  Bay  Company  were 
seized,  and  shortly  afterwards  a 
Provisional  Governmentwas  fbnned 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


of  which  Riel  was  Dictator.  These 
untoward  events  gave  a  gloomy 
Christmas  to  Canada,  and  caused 
much  uneasiness  amongst  those  at 
home  who  watched  and  understood 

For  many  months  no  pressure 
could  be  put  upon  the  insurgents, 
and  should  disaffection  spread,  or 
a  foreign  element  be  introduced, 
coercion  would  necessitate  trouble 
and  bloodshed.  The  sole  access  to 
them  through  our  territories  was 
by  Lord  Selkirk's  route  which 
would  not  be  open  till  summer. 
The  interval,  however,  was  not 
wasted  at  Ottawa,  and  preparations 
were  made  for  a  military  expedition 
as  soon  as  the  season  should  allow 
of  movement.  The  Home  Govern- 
ment did  not  behave  handsomely. 
For  some  time  advice  was  all  that 
they  could  give  till  shamed  into  ac- 
tion— for,  after  all,  it  was  in  a  great 
measure  to  their  negligence  that 
the  hitch  was  owing,  and  then  they 
agreed  to  bear  one-ihird  of  the  cost. 
The  Red  River  expedition  forms  an 
interesting  narrative  in  itself.  But 
here  we  have  only  room  to  say  that 
half  a  battalion  of  the  6oth  Rifles, 
two  battalions  of  Dominion  militia 
besides  artillery,  and  the  necessary 
attendants  of  such  a  force,  with  an 
enormous  mass  of  stores,  accom- 
plished the  journey  without  a  single 
miscarriage,  and  occupied  the  settle- 
ment without  firing  a  single  shot. 
The  ringleaders  who,  besides  Riel, 
were  a  half-bred  and  a  Fenian,  saved 
themselves  by  a  timely  flight,  and 
with  their  departure  the  insurrec- 
tion was  at  an  end.  Had  the 
forest  Indians  on  the  lino  of  march 
been  hostile,  they  might  have 
seriously  harassed  our  movements, 
but  the  equitable  rule  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  had  taught  them 
that  they  had  notning  to  fear  from 
the  English,  and  had  made  them 
staunch  to  our  interests.  Yet,  even 
without  opposition,  the  physical  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  were  very  great, 
and  too  much  praise  cannot  be  given 
to  the  commander  Colonel,  now  Sir 

Garnet  Wolsley  and  his  officers  for 
the  able  and  complete  manner  in 
which  they  carried  out  a  scheme, 
perhaps,  not  less  difficult  in  its 
execution  than  that  which  fell  to 
the  lot  of  Sir  Robert  Napier  in 

Simultaneously  with  the  troops, 
arrived  Mr.  Archibald  the  Canadmn 
Lieutenant-  Governor  who  com- 
menced his  work  by  winning  the 
confidence  of  all  parties,  and  pre- 
pared them  for  the  new  duties  thej 
would  have  to  perform.  The  Red 
River  Settlement  together  with  a 
certain  space  to  the  west  was  erected 
into  a  province  with  the  usual  two 
chambers  for  the  conduct  of  its  do- 
mestic affairs,  and  a  representation 
in  the  Federal  Senate  and  House  of 
Commons  respectively  of  two  and 
four  members.  And  from  that  day 
to  this,  excepting  the  threat  of  a 
Fenian  raid  which  was  frustrated 
by  the  prompt  action  of  the  authori. 
ties  at  Ottawa  who  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  poured  another  force 
into  the  colony — ^for  so  settled  had 
it  become  internally  that  the  first 
occupation  had  been  withdrawn— 
Manituba  has  enjoyed  that  quiet 
which  spares  the  historian  pages  ot 
labour.  Sons  of  wealthy  farmers 
in  Ontario,  themselves  possessbg 
means  and  many  more  from  other 
parts  are  swelling  the  population 
of  the  colony,  and  as  it  is  the 
tendency  of  man  always  to  move 
towards  the  West,  the  next  t«?D 
years  may  see  numerous  settle- 
ments arise,  and  perhaps  the  sub- 
division of  the  North- West  tcrritort 
which  is  still  ruled  like  our  Crown 
colonies,  directly  by  a  Governor  in 
Council,  into  new  provinces.  To 
anticipate  this  contingency  and  to 
remove  every  shadow  of  jealousv, 
treaties  have  already  been  made  with 
the  various  savage  nations,  the  prin- 
ciple adopted  being  precisely  the 
same  as  that  which  has  proved  so 
beneficial  both  to  the  red  and  the 
white  man  in  Canada.  No  account  of 
North  America  would  be  complete 
without  some   words  on  this  im- 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


poriftnt  sabjecfc.  Por  to  the  mode 
in  which  the  English  have  met  the 
abongines,  they  owe  especially  in 
earlier  timee  that  secnriiy  withe  nb 
which  progress  must  have  been  le* 
tardad,  and  that  immunity  from 
retaliation  for  wrongs  inflicted  on 
the  unhappy  natives  of  the  soil, 
which  blot  the  history  of  colooisa- 
Uon  on  the  other  side  of  the  border. 
The  system  we  pursued,  as  fast  as 
we  required  more  land,  was  to 
samnum  the  Indians  who  claimed 
it,  and  make  a  bargain  with  them 
for  its  sale,  leaving  to  them  always 
certain  'reserves'  which  were  to 
be  for  ever  inviolable  by  the  white 
man.  To  these  they  confined 
themselves  and  in  process  of  time 
became  so  tame,  that  they  welcomed 
the  risits  of  strangers,  especially  of 
those  who  taught  religion,  embraced 
Christianity,  exchanged  their  wig- 
wams for  wooden  houses,  built 
churches  and  schools,  and  inter- 
married so  frequently  with  the  con- 
qnering  race,  that  an  Indian  of 
pare  Uood  is  now  a  rarity  in  the 
older  Canadas.  By  a  wholesome 
exercise  of  paternal  care  the  price 
of  their  lands  was  not  paid  them  in 
cash  which  would  at  once  have  been 
converted  into  liquor,  but  in  an- 
noiiies,  held  in  trust  by  the  State, 
which  pnnctually  at  a  certain  day 
in  every  year  pays  the  dividends 
accming  from  the  fimd  in  kind — 
by  whidi  must  be  understood  blan- 
kets, and  useful  things — or  in 
money  at  the  option  of  the  creditor. 
The  importation  of  spirits  into 
the  reserves  was,  and  is,  severely 
panished,  while  temptations  are 
offered  to  these  people  to  accept 
their  alkwances  in  a  form  which  will 
reallv  contribute  to  their  well-being. 
In  ^  North-West  this  process  is 
being  imitated,®  and  we  trust  that 
experience  there  again  will  show, 
that  by  no  inexorable  law  of  nature 
is  it  ordained,  that  the  development 
of  the  higher  race  must  necessarily 

mean  the  enslaving  or  the  extinction 
of  that  which  has  been  less  favoured. 
One  word  more  in  equal  justice 
to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Administration, 
and  the  wild  people  with  which  it 
commerced.  The  stations  are  widely 
apart,  a  distance  of  loo  miles  fre- 
quently, sometimes  200,  or  even 
300  separating  them.  Their  garri- 
sons— ^if  we  may  use  the  expres- 
sion— ^rarely  consist  of  more  than 
three  officers,  and  six  or  seven 
Europeans,  at  most  ten  whites; 
their  stores  are  filled  with  objects 
coveted  by  the  natives,  and,  when 
hundreds  at  certain  seasons  congpre- 
gate  around  them,  yet  robbery  on 
any  concerted  principle  has  been 
almost,  if  not  quite  unknown,  and 
the  servants  of  the  Company  may 
travel  with  untold  riches  without 
fear  of  interruption.  The  troubles 
on  the  American  side  have  been 
due  to  faithlessness  on  the  part  of 
the  Americans,  and  the  corruption 
of  their  agents,  nominated  by  Go- 
vernment to  dispense  the  annuities. 
Starting  upon  the  same  premises  as 
ourselves,  as  the  reserves  became 
desirable,  they  have  driven  the  In- 
dians from  them,  until  at  last,  in 
sheer  dread  of  finding  no  place  in 
which  to  rest,  they  have  turned 
upon  their  disturbers,  and  com- 
mitted such  atrocities  as  those  which 
will  always  make  the  year  1863  a 
terrible  one  in  the  annals  of 
Minnesota.  In  addition  to  this, 
the  distributors,  after  summoning 
the  savages  to  a  given  place  at  a 
given  date,  were  proverbially  un- 
punotual.  Many  of  the  recipients 
had  to  travel  great  distances,  and 
lost  the  hunting  season  by  the 
delay  ;  and  the  arrival  of  the  autho- 
rities commonly  ended  in  a  pande- 
monium, the  Indians  being  tempted 
by  cheap  whisky  to  forego  the 
good  things  which  had  been  voted  to 
them  by  Congress.  The  failure  of 
their  good  intentions  is  now  suffi- 
ciently known  to  the  Government  at 

'  The  annxiitics  will  be  paid  at  the  posts  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  where  Indians 
nsro  long  been  used  to  congregate  in  the  spring,  to  exchange  their  furs  with  the  produce 


The  Domiriian  of  Canada. 


Washington,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  measures  are  being  taken  for 
the  removal  of  abnses  which  are  as 
discreditable  to  the  present  peoplers 
of  the  New  World,  as  they  are  in- 
jarions  to  its  older  occupants. 

British  Columbia  entered  the  Con- 
federation in  1871,  the  chief  con- 
dition of  its  adhesion  being  the 
construction  of  a  railway  which 
should  unite  it  with  the  other  pro- 
vinces. During  that  year,  and  the 
last,  surveys  have  been  made  to 
determine  the  most  advantageous 
route.  1,200  miles  leading  over 
the  prairies  to  the  Bocky  Mountains 
offer  no  diflficulties,  nor  will  the 
descent  to  the  Pacific  be  unusually 
troublesome ;  the  most  arduous  part 
of  the  undertaking  is  that  to  the 
north  of  Lake  Superior,  cmd  thence 
to  Lake  Winipeg.  But  with  a 
partial  guarantee  from  England 
and  Canada  in  money,  and  a  large 
offer  of  good  land,  a  company  is 
now  forming,  which  by  1880  ought 
to  complete  the  grand  task  fore- 
shadowed by  Lord  Lytton  twenty. 
one  years  earlier.  British  America 
will  then  be  the  high  road  of  com- 
merce to  China;  for  although  the 
distance  across  the  continent  will 
not  differ  much  from  that  traversed 
by  the  American  railway,  currants 
and  winds  bring  sailing  vessels 
from  the  Eastern  hemisphere  to  the 
shores  of  British  Columbia  after  a 
voyage  ten  or  fourteen  days  shorter 
than  to  San  Francisco. 

Those  who  carefully  consider  all 
these  things  cannot  fail,  to  perceive 
liie  priceless  value  of  Canada  to  the 
Empire.  During  her  infancy,  when 
she  was  tended  with  jealous  case, 
flhe  gave  the  ordinary  trouble  of 
children ;  now,  a  credit  to  her  parent 
and  herself,  she  has  entered  the 
world,  and  what  she  asks  is  a  re- 
turn of  that  honest  •affection  with 
which  she  regards  the  country  from 
which  she  sprang,  and  whose  good 
features  she  is  reproducing  so  &ith- 
lully.  If  she  were  in  other  hands, 
for  independence  is  at  present  out 
of  the  question,  nor  could  she  in 

any  way  gain  by  the  latter,  the 
loss  would  be  almost  the  severest 
one  can  imagine  to  Great  Britain. 
It/is  time  in  war  we  have  to  provide 
fior  the  protection  of  our  Colonies, 
but  it  is  equally  so  that  if  they  were 
alienated  they  might  be  found  in 
the  balance  against  us,  and  a  mari- 
time State  like  Nova  Scotia  could 
give  a  preponderance  to  the  Uniied 
States  which  they  are  far  from  pos- 
sessingaslongasthe  Dominion  forms 
part  of  us.  These  considerations, 
however,  lead  us  to  another  ques- 
tion which  has  began  to  be  dis- 
cussed of  late,  whether  something 
may  not  be  done  to  straiten  the 
union  of  the  various  portions  of 
the  Empire.  For  Parliamentary  re- 
presentation  iu  its  perfect  form, 
such  as  was  proposed  by  Pitt,  the 
day  is  past.  A  permanent  Council 
under  the  Secretary  of  State,  simi- 
lar to  that  established  at  the  India 
Office,  applied  to.  the  Colonies, 
would  seem  to  be  of  little  or  no  ad- 
vantage. Accredited  agents  might 
be  received  acting  as  plenipotentia- 
ries, but  these  again  must  be  de- 
pendent upon  the  existence  of  the 
Ministry  which  appointed  them; 
moreover,  an  intermediary  between 
the  Province  and  home  already 
exists  in  the  person  of  the  GK)vemor, 
whose  impartial  position  should 
enable  him  to  judge  more  cahnly 
of  affairs  than  can  those  whose 
interests  are  more  immediately  in- 
volved in  them.  Yetcertain  measures 
strike  one  as  feasible,  and  which, 
without  disturbing  internal  arrange- 
ments, wouldadd  greatly  to  Impenal 
unity  and  Imperial  strength. 

(i)  The  foremost  of  these  ap- 
pears to  us  to  be  the  establish- 
ment of  one  army  and  one  navy, 
to  which  the  selfrgoveming  Pk>- 
vinces  should  be  aisked  to  contii^ 
J>ute  at  a  siven  rate.  The  two 
services  woiud  thus  be  recruited  is 
the  Colonies,  and  a  proportionate 
number  of  commissionB  gives^ 
which  would  open  a  field  of  activity 
to  the  wealthier  class  of  young 
men,  a  thing  greatly  to  be  desired 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 

as  the  numbers  and  prosperitj  of  a 
country  increase.  Nor  need  the 
proTmcial  regiments  and  ships  be 
confined  to  tbeir  own  provinces ;  on 
the  oontraiy,  we  would  nttber  see 
ftU  take  their  turn  of  foreign  ser- 
vice, the  expense  of  moving  being, 
Mfe  are  assnred,  more  than  counter- 
balanced by  the  advantage  to  be 
gained  from  the  intercourse  and 
knowledge  of  each  other  of  the 
yarioas  peoples.  A  number  of 
troops  and  ships,  it  is  to  be  under- 
stood, of  course,  equal  to  that  which 
the  Colony  supports,  being  main- 
tained, except  by  special  agreement, 
in  cases  of  emergency  in  the  Colony. 

(2)  A  customs-union ;  that  is  to 
saj,  that  goods  should  travel  free 
through  all  parts  of  the  Empire,  the 
produce  of  foreign  nations  being 
alone  taxed. 

(3)  The  assumption  of  the  fund- 
ed debts  of  the  Colonies  existing  at 
the  time  of  the  contract,  which  thus 
redooed  from  6  and  5  per  cent,  to 
^,  a  saving  of  income  might  be 
effected  ihat  would  go  far  to  oounter- 
balanoe  the  sacrifice  which  the  se- 
oond  proposal  might  entail  on  them. 

It  has  just  been  said  that  the  day 
for  Parliamentary  representation  in 
the  sense  in  which  it  ia  now  under<» 
stood  is  gone  by.  A  proposal  to 
give  to  the  Dominion,  for  instance, 
a  nunher  pf  members  proportionate 
to  her  population,  a  number  which 
horn  tune  to  tiine  would  demand 
augmentation,  would  never  be  lis- 
tened to ;  and  as  things  have  grown, 
and  considering  the  wide  geogra- 
phical separation  of  peoples,  the 
di£k«nt  circumstances  in  many 
respects  nnder  which  they  live  from 
oanelfos,  it  is  perhapsbest  that  each 

should  have  direct  control  of  its  own 
affairs.  For  this  reason,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  Sir  Edward  Creasy  has 
recently  remarked,  if  it  wore  thought 
desirable  that  questions  affecting 
the  whole  Empire  should  be  dis- 
cussed by  delegates  from  every  part 
of  it,  the  Colonies  might  be  willing 
to  be  represented  by  a  small  but 
definite  number  of  persons  who 
could  expound  the  views  of  their 
constituents  in  debate  and  exchange 
opinions  with  their  fellow  legisla- 
tors. Whether  by  such  an  ar- 
rangement as  this  any  really  useful 
object  would  be  attained  ia  doubt- 
ful, but  it  deserves  consideration, 
and  its  advantages  and  disadvan- 
tages may  well  be  discussed. 

It  need  hardly  be  addod  that 
these  lucubrations  on  the  subject  of 
union  are  intended  to  apply,  not 
to  India  and  the  Crown  Colonies, 
but  to  those  three  only  which  are 
self-governing — ^namely,  the  Do- 
minion and  the  South  African  and 
Australian  groups.  These,  with  the 
British  Isles  as  a  centre,  all  working 
cordially  together  for  one  great 
purpose,  may  reach  the  highest 
destiny,  and  effect  more  good  for 
mankind  than  it  has  ever  yet  been 
the  privilege  of  a  nation  to  achieve. 
Indisposed  to  aggression,  and  not 
jealous  of  the  weHare  of  other  States, 
which  means,  we  have  learned  to 
know,  an  addition  to  our  own  wel- 
fare, we  might  prevent  wars — ^we 
should  not  provoke  them ;  we  might 
relieve  the  distressed — we  should 
not  oppress ;  and  by  our  example 
and  force  of  character  lead  others 
perpetually  nearer  to  that  concord 
which  ought  to  subsist  amongst 
the  peoples  of  the  earth. 





THE  fifth   CEcumenical   Council 
had  been  held  at  the  Lateran 
Chorch  and  brought  to  a  conclusion 
amidst  general  acclamations.  Never 
in  tiie  history  of  the  Church  had 
there  been  greater  reason  for  con- 
gratulation   than    on  the  present 
occasion.     The  power  of  the  suc- 
cessor of  St.  Peter  had  been  declared 
and  vindicated  as  supreme,  not  only 
in   spiritual   matters   but  also  in 
things  temporal.   The  enemy  of  the 
Pope,  Louis  XII.,  with  his  defiant 
motto,  'Perdam  Babylonis  nomen,' 
was  dead,  and  his  successor  had 
concluded    a    concordat  with   the 
Papal    Power.     As   the   members 
passed  the  threshold  of  that  old 
church,  said  to  have  been  built  by 
Constantine,  at   the   end  of   their 
twelfth    meeting   on  the   i6th   of 
March,  15 17,  who  could  have  pre- 
dicted that  seven  months  later,  on 
the  31st  of  October,  an  arrow  from 
a  little  town  of    Germany  would 
wound  the  Western  Church  to  the 
very  core,  and  change  the  triumphant 
Queen,  ruling  in  solitary  grandeur 
over    the    nations,    into    a   Mater 
dolorosa^  *  weeping  for  her  children 
and  refusing  to  be  comforted  for 
her   children,   because    they   were 
not'?     For  on  that  i6th  day  of 
March  the  sky  was  clear  and  with- 
out any  traces  of  clouds,  and  Leo  X. 
was  all  but  an  Elijah ;  and  the  one 
protesting  voice  was  drowned  amidst 
the    general  hubbub  of  ecclesias- 
tics, though  that  voice  came  from 
the     venerable     Sorbonne,     whose 
history   dates    from   the    days    of 
Alcuin,  and  which  has  occupied  all 
along  a  position  in  the  history  of 
Europe  unparalleled  by  any  other 
school  or  university. 

On  the  last  day  of  October,  15 17, 
a  young  Augustine  monk,  professor 
at  the  newly  founded  University  of 
Wittenberg,  hitherto  known  for 
nothing  else  but  his  hatred  of 
Aristoteles  and  the  scholastic  philo- 

sophy (*I  am  longing,'  he  wrote 
'to  tear  the  Greek  mask  from  off 
the  face  of  that  comedian,  who  has 
made  such  a  fool  of  the  Church, 
and  to  expose  him  in  all  his  naked- 
ness') affixed  a  paper  with  95  theses 
against  the  abuse  of  indulgences 
to  the  door  of  the  church  of  the 
castle.  *  Ho,  ho,'  said  a  pious  monk, 
after  he  had  read  them,  '  he  is  the 
man,  he  will  do  it — we  have  waited 
for  him.'  In  a  few  days  they  were 
known  all  over  Germany ;  in  a  few 
weeks  they  had  spread  all  over  the 
Continent;  some  time  afterwards 
they  were  sold  in  the  streets  of 
Jerusalem;  the  Reformation,  as  it 
is  called,  had  commenced. 

Martin   Luther  was  a  religious 

genius.      There   are  times  in  the 

history  of  nations,  when  the  moral 

or  reUgious  questions  which  form 

the  substratum  of  the  social  and 

political  fabric  are  brought  by  an 

irresistible    impulse    to    the    sor- 

hce.     Such   a  moment    called  in 

Scripture  language  the  ^fulness  of 

the   time,'    had  come   in  the   six- 

teenth    century.     The    revival   of 

learning,  the  awakening  on  all  sides 

of  centrifugal  forces,  contributed  to 

the  rapid  spread  of  the  movement 

when  once  inaugurated,  but  they 

were  not  its  origin  or  cause.     The 

restlessness  which  had  seized  the 

intellectual  and  political  world  did 

not  make  itself  felt  in  the  moral 

world  except  in  Germany.     For  the 

German  race  is  the  embodiment  of 

a  great  moral  idea;  their  nature 

leaves  them  no  rest  till  they  have 

penetrated  into  the  origin  of  things, 

till  they  have   investigated    their 

essence.     Luther  was  the  greatest 

Gorman  that  ever  lived,  because  he 

realised    more    than    anyone    the 

moral  idea.     A  genius  is  ever  tbe 

offspring,  as  used  to  be   said,   of 

a  god  and  one  of  the  daughters 

of  men — of  heavenly  and  earthly 

powers.     Luther  was  a  child  of  Lis 


Wittenherg  and  Cologne. 


age ;  the  wants  and  aspirations  of 
the  times  were,  so  to  speak,  con- 
centrated in  his  person ;  he  articn- 
lated  the  word  that  had  lain 
quireriog,  seeking  in  vain  for 
Qtterance,  on  the  lips  of  thousands 
and  millions.  Bat  above  all  he 
was  a  (}erman :  his  subjectivity,  his 
boldness  in  speculation,  his  intense 
moral  earnestness,  his  indomitable 
energy  and  perseverance  when  once 
roused,  characterised  him  as  a  de- 
Boendant  of  the  men  that  had 
broagfat  old  Boine  to  the  verge  of 
destruction.  And  being  a  genius, 
and  not  merely  a  man  of  talent, 
he  had  that  Divine  afiBatus,  that 
intense  enthusiasm,  that  Holy  Spirit, 
which  is  ever  the  life-giving  and  life- 
preserving  principle,  and  the  very 
absence  of  which  is  in  itself  death. 

Looked  at  in  this  light  it  is 
not  astonishing  that  the  Medissval 
Chnrch  should  have  collapsed  like  a 
honse  of  sand  built  on  the  sea-shore 
bj  the  hands  of  little  children. 
The  Church  of  the  Middle  Ages  had 
been  the  grandest  Church  ever  seen. 
Christiamty,asits  Founder  intended 
it,  was  to  be  the  religion  for  the 
world;  the  Church,  which  is  the 
embodiment  of  Christianity,  strove 
to  be  1  he  Church  for  the  world. 
That  was  a  grand  ideal.  The 
Catholic  Church  was  the  light  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  salt  which 
kept  the  world  from  corruption. 
At  the  time  of  the  Beformation  the 
Chnrch  had  ceased  to  be  the  bearer 
of  the  intellectual  idea — she  was  no 
longer  a  hght;  but  the  great  reason 
of  her  faU  was  that  she  had  ceased 
to  be  the  salt  of  the  world.  The 
Chnrch  must  be  the  highest  em- 
bodiment of  the  moral  idea — if  she 
is  not  this  she  is  nothing.  At  the 
time  of  the  Reformation  her  theology, 
her  practices,  her  life,  were  utterly 
immoral ;  faithful  to  the  traditions 
of  Imperial,  Pagan  Rome,  she  had 
become  nothing  but  the  embodi- 
ment of  brute  force,  which  can  only 
be  maintained  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  or  by  keeping  men  and 

women  in  a  state  of  degradation. 
Hence  Papal  Borne  trembled  to  her 
foundations;  she  had  become  one 
great  lie,  and  the  hurricane  that 
swept  over  Europe  gave  her  shock 
after  shock. 

This  moral  idea,  as  seen  in  tho  life 
of  Luther,  makes  the  great  charm, 
tho  intense  power,  the  exceeding 
fascination  of  his  name.  What  are 
they  to  us,  the  theological  formulas 
in  which  the  next  century  attempted 
to  stereotype  andto  justify  his  move- 
ment, or,  in  other  words,  to  undo 
the  Reformation  ?  Does  the  Church 
of  the  nineteenth  century  stand  or 
fall  by  the  dogmas  of  the  German 
Reformer  of  the  sixteenth  century? 
What  is  it  to  us  that  he  made  great 
mistakes,  that  he  was  oft  exceedingly 
intolerant,  that  his  Reformation 
partook  greatly  of  the  character  of 
a  political  revolution  ?  What  is  it 
to  us  that  he  gave  to  the  State  the 
power  of  which  he  had  deprived 
the  Pope?  The  grandeur  of  his 
Reformation  is,  that  it  was  a  move- 
ment coming  from  the  heart,  not 
from  the  head ;  a  cry  of  holy  in- 
dignation, not  of  cool  reasoning; 
a  movement  of  love,  not  of  calcula- 
tion. Spare  us  the  discussion  about 
the  material  and  formal  principles 
of  the  Reformation,  but  show  us 
that  man  crouching  in  his  cell,  and 
finding  no  word  wherewith  to  ex- 
press the  famine  of  his  soul ;  pray- 
ing, wrestling,  suffering,  dying  as 
verily  a  death  as  any  of  the  old 
martyrs;  rising  from  his  grave  as 
he  comes  in  contact  with  the  living 
Christ,  and  going  on  his  way  de- 
voting every  word  and  work  of  his 
life  to  the  service  of  his  Lord.  On 
this  moral  basis,  the  absence  of 
which  is  the  only  heresy,  shall  not 
the  Reformation — ^that  is,  the  his- 
toric evolution  of  the  Church — bo 
at  length  proceeded  with  ? 

Colbert  said,  '  Rome  rcculera  on 
elle  cessera  d'etre  chretienne.'  She 
has  not  done  so ;  she  has  shrunk 
from  all  reforms,  and  she  stands 
at  this  moment  before  the  eyes  of 




THE   fifth   CEcumenical   Coanoii 
had  been  held  at  the  Late 
Church  and  brought  to  a  oonclr 
amidst  general  acclamations.  *" 
in  the  history  of  the  Chnr 
there  been  greater  reason 
gratnlation    than    on  th 
occasion.     The  power  r 
cesser  of  St.  Peter  had  1 
and  vindicated  as  sup 
in   spiritual    matte^ 
things  temporal 

Pope,  Louis  XII 

motto,  'Perdarr 

was  dead,  ar 

concluded    r 

Papal    Pov 

passed  th 

church,  « 










&aly  too 


to  be 

jream  of  a 


-  "^o  the 

'  '■-  *^'arch  Catholic, 

.'^r^the  Congress  at 

'"^  C'O'on  against  the 

>  *.^i  dogmatism  and 

and  an    honest 

like  the 

"  ,    -^  ^./rrnaation. 

'  ^[h  University  of  Munich 
.\  ;:Wcst;  once  more  the 
^    •  %i^?^  ^  regenerate  the 

C'^-"''!\.ot  necessary  to  enter  into 
I    T^jfY  of  this  movement,  and 

f.V  '"^^y^ii   not  allow  us  to  make 

<:"^'='  thfltt  a  few  remarks.      The 

'?''^\loUko  of  the  movement  and 

^'"tlicr  leaders  are  well   known 

i*^  ^Cs  to  the  exertions  of  numerous    when  we  look  at  the  matter  mc 

^''•^.pondcnts.     It  is  curious  that    closely.     That  the    Old    Oatholi 

fho  second  meeting,  which  was  con- 
l!,ied  for  the  purpose  of  consoli- 
dating tlio  movement,  should  have 
been  ^icld  at  a  time  when  men's 
tliouglits  naturally  revert  to  the 
sixicl'ath  century.  It  is  curious, 
too,  to  find  German  Protestants 
not  only  present  at  the  delibera- 
tions, but  lifting  up  their  voices, 
and  giving  advice  and  encourage- 
ment. Tlie  awakening  of  German 
Nationality  has  had  most  likely 
soinethin5^  to  do  with  this.  The 
niighiy  impulse   that    made    men 

V  strifes  of  cen- 

,  r^B^  in  band  for 

J  common  Fatherland 

.ctinmon  foe,  may  have 

/irrk  to  inspire  the  hope 

-  \'/  cheological  hatreds    and 

j^>iical  divisions  of  past  cen- 

*  .^'  may  some  day  be  buried  in 

^^rion,  and  the  United  Fatherland 

•  ijre  one  bond  the  more  in  a  United 

'  CboTch.     If  the  Old  Catholic  Re- 

/ormation  can  effect  such  a  union, 

it  will  have  supplied  the  element  in 

whichLuther's  Reformation  signallj 

failed,  viz.  catholicity. 

The  movement  of  Munich  priests 
presents,  however,  rather  a  con- 
trast to  that  of  Wittenberg.  The 
resolutions  at  Cologne"  and  the 
theses  of  Wittenberg  have  little 
in  common.  There  is  no  doubt 
great  moral  earnestness  amongst 
the  leaders,  but  the  movement  is 
chiefly  of  an  intellectual,  theological 
character,  and  the  atmosphere  in 
which  it  lives  is  that  of  the  class- 
room. The  exceedingly  conserva- 
tive  character  of  the  movement,  the 
moderation  of  its  leaders,  the  in- 
tense  care  of  avoiding  anything  like 
revolution  or  schism,  the  lawyer- 
like  method  in  which  business  is 
transacted,  the  chief  place  given  in 
the  programme  to  organisation — all 
these  things  distinguish  it  from  the 
movement  of  Luther,  and  seem  at 
first  to  open  up  fair  prospects  of 
success.  But  this  seems  doubtful 
when  we  look  at  the  matter  more 


will  not  influence  the  Church  of 
Home  is  evident  from  the  history  of 
other  similar  movements.  Though 
they  may  say  with  Bossuet,  *  Sainte 
Eglise  romaine,  mere  des  eo^lises 
et  de  tons  les  fidMes,  Eglise  choisie 
de  Dieu  pour  nnlr  ses  enfants 
dans  la  memo  foi  et  dans  la  mme 
charit6,  nous  tiendrons  toujonrs  u 
ton  unite  par  le  fond  de  nos  cn- 
trailles,'  they  will  always  be  looked 
upon  as  schismatics,  and  will 
have  to  console  themselves  with 
saying,  *Non  schisma  fecimus  sed 

WUtenber^  and  Cologne, 


There    remains,    then, 
*ve,  to  follow  th^    ex* 
'^Id  CathoHcs  of  Hol- 
oble  menvrho  faaye 
jr   having  confined 
to  three  points,  and 
^vititout   influence  npon 
watholics  or  Protestants,  or 
on  with  vigorous  reformation, 
j/is  to  draw  nearer  to  Protestant- 
ism, which  is  revoliatton.     But  of 
coarse  the  nearer  the  Old  Catholics 
get  to   Protestantosm,   the    more 
difficult  it  will  be  to  conciliate  the 
German  Roman  Catholics. 

Moderate  m^n  are  of  some  use  in 
the  world,  but  in  a  great  crisis  thej 
are  useless.  The*  Church  of  Borne 
hj  her  latest  der^pment  is  draw- 
ing near  to  a  crisis;  the  Churches  of 
^ilures  are  coming  fast  to  a  crisis. 
At  euch  a  moment  we  want  an  Eli- 

jah, not  an  Elisha  ;  a  Boanerges,  not 
a  Bam9»bas.  Such  a  one  will  no 
doubt  arise,  when  the  fulness  of 
time  is  oome.  Meanwhile  we  shall 
see,  most  likely,  a  good  many  re- 
actions in  the  Eomish  Church,  and 
more  or  less  yigorous  reformatory 
movements.  But  they  will  be 
powerless  to  avert  the  revolution 
which  threatens  us  from  all  sides. 
*  Hurrah,  the  dead  ride  quickly,* 
says  Lenore-^ead-  belief,  creeds, 
confessions,  systems,  churches  pass 
out  of  sight. 

What  then  remains?  The  centre 
of  the  Reformation,  Christ;  the 
spirit  of  the  Reformation,  devotion. 
Truth  remains,  ^aKpvoev  yeXaaava^ 
moving  on  calmly  and  patiently, 
subduing  the  world.  She  has  con- 
quered ;  she  is  victorious.  Let  us 
have  patience ;  she  is  eternal. 

A.  S. 


WiUenherg  and  Cologne. 


Europe  as  the  most  rationalistic^- 
taking  the  word  in  its  real  sense 
—and  revolutionary  Church  of 
Christendom.  The  cou^s  d^Hglise 
are  numerous,  and  they  are  far 
from  being  coups  de  maitre.  She 
has  startled  Europe  by  the  publica- 
tion of  the  dogma  of  the  Lnmaculate 
Conception,  and  still  more  lately  by 
the  promulgation  of  the  doctrine  of 
Papal  Infallibility. 

All  England  has  applauded  to 
the  echo  the  indignant  protest 
wrung  frorti  the  lips  of  faithful 
Catholics,  which  found  their  ex- 
pression first  at  Munich,  and  after- 
wards at  Cologne.  The  true  Pro- 
f-estants  amongst  us  are  only  too 
d-eHghtcd  when  the  Roman  Church 
is  in  any  way  made  out  to  be 
Babylon  ;  some  of  us  dream  of  a 
reconciliation  between  the  several 
branches  of  the  Church  Catholic, 
whilst  olliers  hail  the  Congress  at 
Cologno  as  a  reaction  against  the 
spirit  of  intolerant  dogmatism  and 
moral  stagnation,  and  an  honest 
attempt  at  reformation.  Like  the 
Sorbonne,  the  University  of  Munich 
lifts  up  its  protest ;  once  more  the 
School  attempts  to  regenerate  the 

It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into 
the  history  of  this  movement,  and 
space  will  not  allow  us  to  make 
more  than  a  few  remarks.  The 
Von  Moltke  of  the  movement  and 
its  other  leaders  are  well  known 
thanks  to  the  exertions  of  nnmerous 
correspondents.  It  is  curious  that 
the  second  meeting,  which  was  con- 
vened for  the  purpose  of  consoli- 
dating the  movement,  should  have 
been  held  at  a  time  when  men's 
thoughts  naturally  revert  to  the 
.sixteenth  century.  It  is  curious, 
too,  to  find  German  Protestants 
not  only  present  at  the  delibera- 
tions, but  lifting  up  their  voices, 
and  giving  advice  and  encourage- 
ment. The  awakening  of  German 
Nationality  has  had  most  likely 
sometliing  to  do  with  this.  The 
mighfy  impulse   that    made    men 

forget  the  feuds  and  strifes  of  cen- 
turies, and  join  hand  in  hand  for 
the  defence  of  a  common  Fatherland 
against  a  common  foe,  may  have 
been  at  work  to  inspire  the  hope 
that  the  theological  hatreds  and 
ecclesiastical  divisions  of  past  cen- 
turies may  some  day  be  buried  in 
oblivion,  and  the  United  Fatherland 
have  one  bond  the  more  in  a  United 
Church.  If  the  Old  CatboUc  Re- 
formation can  effect  such  a  union, 
it  will  have  supplied  the  element  in 
whichLuther*s  Reformation  signally 
failed,  viz.  catholicity. 

The  movement  of  Munich  priests 
pres^its,  however,  rather  a  con- 
trast to  that  of  Wittenberg.  The 
resolutions  at  Cologne"  and  the 
theses  of  Wittenberg  have  httle 
in  common.  There  is  no  doubt 
great  moral  earnestness  amongst 
the  leaders,  but^  the  movement  is 
chiefly  of  an  intellectual,  theological 
character,  and  the  atmosphere  in 
which  it  lives  is  that  of  the  class- 
room. The  exceedingly  conserva- 
tive character  of  the  movement,  the 
moderation  of  its  leaders,  the  in- 
tense  care  of  avoiding  anything  like 
revolution  or  schism,  the  lawyer- 
like  method  in  which  business  is 
transacted,  the  chief  place  given  in 
the  programme  to  organisation — ^all 
these  things  distinguish  it  from  the 
movement  of  Luther,  and  seem  at 
first  to  open  up  fair  prospects  of 
success.  But  this  seems  douhtini 
when  we  look  at  the  matter  more 
closely.  That  the  Old  Catholics 
will  not  influence  the  Church  of 
Bome  is  evident  from  the  history  of 
other  similar  movements.  Though 
they  may  say  with  Bossuet,  *  Sainte 
Eglise  romaine,  mere  des  ^glises 
et  de  tons  les  fiddles,  £iglise  choisie 
de  Dieu  pour  unir  ses  enfents 
dans  la  memo  foi  et  dans  la  meme 
charit6,  nous  tiendrons  toujours  a 
ton  unite  par  le  fond  de  nos  cn- 
trailles,*  they  will  always  be  lookevi 
upon  as  schismatics,  and  \vill 
have  to  console  themselves  with 
saying,  *Non  schisma  fecimus  sid 


Wittenberg  and  Cologne, 


pa&nr.*  There  remaiiis,  then, 
the  altematiye,  to  follow  th^  ex- 
ample of  the  Old  Catholics  of  Hoi- 
land,  a  body  of  noble  men  who  hare 
kBpt  aloof  after  having  confined 
their  protest  to  three  points,  and 
who  are  witiioat  inflaenoe  upon 
Roman  Oatholics  or  Protestants,  or 
to  go  on  with  Tigorous  reformation, 
that  is  to  draw  nearer  to  Protestant- 
ism, which  is  tevoKatton.  But  of 
coarse  the  nearer  the  Old  Catholics 
get  io  nrotestantasm,  the  more 
difficolt  it  will  be  to  conciliate  the 
Gennsn  fiomaa  Catholics. 

Moderate  mien  are  of  some  use  in 
the  world,  but  in  a  great  crisis  they 
are  nneless.  The  Church  of  Bome 
bj  her  ktest  der^pment  is  draw- 
ing near  to  a  crisis;  the  Churches  of 
fiiiiares  are  coming  £E^t  to  a  crisis. 
At  each  a  moment  we  want  an  Eli- 

jah, not  an  Elisha ;  a  Boanerges,  not 
a  Barnabas.  Such  a  one  will  no 
doubt  arise,  when  the  fulness  of 
time  is  come.  Meanwhile  we  sha>ll 
see,  most  likely,  a  good  many  re- 
actions in  the  Bomish  Church,  and 
more  or  less  yigorous  reformatory 
moyements.  But  they  will  be 
powerless  to  avert  the  revolution 
which  threatens  us  &om  all  sides. 
*  Hurrah,  the  dead  ride  quickly,* 
says  Lenore-^ead  belief,  creeds, 
confessions,  systems,  churdies  pass 
out  of  sight. 

What  then  remainB?  The  centre 
of  ihe  Beformation,  Christ;  the 
spirit  of  the  Beformation,  devotion. 
Truth  remains,  BaKpvoEy  yeXatratra^ 
moving  on  calmly  and  patiently, 
subduing  the  world.  She  has  con- 
quered ;  she  is  victorious.  Let  us 
have  patience ;  she  is  eternal. 

A.  S. 




THIS  is  an  age  in  which  it  may 
well  be  said  that  all  onr  an- 
cient institutions  are  on  their  triaL 
The  spirit  of  enquiry  is  abroad  and 
public  opinion  is  brought  to  bear 
upon  every  conceivable  question. 
It  is  not  sufficient  that  the  origin  of 
an  institution  is  surrounded  by  a 
mist  of  antiquity,  or  that  the  in- 
stitution is  venerable  by  age.  The 
hand  of  the  Vandal  regards  not 
such  qualifications,  while  the  utili- 
tarian measures  everything  by  rule 
and  compass,  and  the  reformer  is 
ever  ready  to  propose  improvements 
and  changes.  The  Church  has 
been  assailed,  the  Universities  have 
undergone  changes,  the  system  of 
land  tenure  is  threatened,  the  form 
of  srovemment  even  has  been  lately 
discussed  with  a  view  to  a  re- 

But  setting  aside  for  the  present 
the  discussion  of  such  very  im- 
portant topics,  it  may  not  be  al- 
together useless  to  enquire  into  the 
method  of  administering  justice  in 
this  country,  and  more  especially 
by  Justices  of  the  Peace.  'The 
great  unpaid'  as  these  are  fami- 
liarly called,  have  been  so  often 
found  fault  with  that  'Justices' 
justice '  has  become  proverbial. 
Of  course  it  cannot  bo  denied  that 
there  is  some  justification  for  this. 
The  fault  however  is  not  so  much 
that  of  the  individuals  who  occupy 
the  position  of  Justices  of  the  Peace 
as  it  is  of  the  system  under  which 
they  are  appointed  and  act. 

In  any  government  which  has  a 
pretence  to  stability,  the  conserva- 
tion of  the  peace  and  the  due  ad- 
ministration of  justice  must  ever  be 
considerations  of  primary  import- 
ance, for  without  them  no  order  can 
be  maintained  and  no  government 
can  ever  continue  to  exist.  From 
ihe  earliest  times  in  the  history 
of  this  country  the  duty  of  pro- 
serving  order  and  of  maintaining 

the  peace  has  devolved  upon  antho- 
rities  constituted  for  that  parpoee. 
In  the  more  remote  times  the 
interest  of  the  people  in  such  ap- 
pointments was  more  direct  than  it 
is  at  present.  King  Alfred  ^r- 
haps  of  all  othei*s  was  the  most 
instrumental  in  the  creation  of 
officers  to  protect  his  subjects  firom 
outrage  and  violence.  At  any  rate 
he  is  universally  credited  wiiJi 
having  been  the  promoter  if  not 
actually  the  originator  of  a  great 
number  of  wise  and  politic  pro- 
visions for  the  good  and  orderly 
governance  of  the  country.  Under 
him  the  kingdom  is  said  to  have 
been  first  divided  into  counties,  | 
hundreds,  tithings,  and  boroughs,  | 
and  the  system  adopted  for  mliDg 
such  divisions  by  making  erery 
man  as  it  were  a  security  amen- 
able to  the  law  for  the  good  be- 
haviour of  his  fellow-man  was — es- 
pecially at  the  time — eminently 
calculated  to  secure  the  inhabitants 
of  the  country  from  violence  and 
wrong  and  their  property  from 
spoliation.  And,  indeed,  if  credit 
may  be  given  to  popular  histories, 
the  state  of  the  country  under  such 
a  system  of  government  fully  proved 
the  sagacity  of  its  rulers  and  the 
efficacy  of  the  system  thus}  intro- 
duced. But  whether  or  not  the 
condition  of  the  country  was  so 
excellent  as  is  portrayed  in  the 
histories  alluded  to,  it  does  seem  to 
me  clear  that  when  a  man  has 
a  direct  interest  in  the  govern- 
ment of  his  country  he  has  a 
strong  inducement  to  do^  all  in  ^his 
power  to  see  that  no  wrong  is  done, 
and  that  justice  is  vindicated ;  and 
though  the  ancient  system  of  pledges 
would,  under  present  circumstance^ 
be  attended  with  difficulties,  and 
perhaps  with  our  increased  po- 
pulation impracticable,  still  the 
principle  is  an  excellent  one;  and 
it    may    very    well     be     doubted 


Justices  of  the  Tea/ae, 


wktlier  with  a  modification  to 
suit  the  present  state  of  things 
such  a  system  would  not  work  bet- 
ter and  be  more  fruitful  of  good  re- 
sults than  the  way  in  which  things 
are  conducted  in  our  day  is  cal- 
culated to  do.  The  claim  upon  the 
hundred  for  damages  caused  by  a 
iiiobor  riotous  gathering  is  the  only 
relic  now  existing  of  the  ancient 
system  of  frank  pledge  and  its  re- 

Sherife,  coroners,  tithingmen, 
borsholdeis,  and  other  officers  were 
elected  by  the  people  to  preserve 
the  peace  and  to  administer  and 
eiecate  the  laws  of  the  land  within 
the  limits  of  their  respective  juris- 
dictions. The  right  of  the  people 
thos  to  choose  their  own  officers 
afords  clear  indications  of  the 
democratic  character  of  the  early 
constitution  of  this  country";  and 
imtil  after  the  Conquest  the  wisdom 
or  justice  of  this  was  never  called 
in  question.  At  the  Conquest,  how- 
erer,  feadalism  with  its  aristocratic 
tendencies  was  introduced  in  full 
vigour,  and  gradually,  but  with 
a  strong  hand,  the  power  of 
the  sovereign  was  extended,  the 
rights  of  the  people  encroached 
npon  and  public  liberty  curtailed. 
This  was  only  effected  gradually, 
for  the  people  were  not  quite 
blind  to  their  own  interests,  and 
sometimes  their  remonstrances 
made  their  grasping  rulers  hesitate 
in  their  encroachments.  An  at- 
tempt was  evidently  made  to  take 
away  their  right  to  eldtjt  sheriffs, 
but  an  Act  was  passed  in  the  28  th 
year  of  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  (c. 
3$)  oonfinning  the  common  law 
and  enacting  *  that  the  people 
should  have  election  of  their  sheriffs 
in  every  shire  where  the  shrievalty 
is  not  of  fee,  if  they  list.'  This, 
however,  was  finally  taken  away  by 
the  9  Ed.  n.  c.  2  for  the  flimsy 
reason  that  the  elections  had  grown 
tamnltuous.  But  the  real  reason 
why— the  king  was  desirous  of 
having  the  appointment  of  sheriffs 


in  his  own  hands — is  evident.  The 
sheriffs  had  then  been  entrusted  with 
the  conduct  of  the  elections  of  Par- 
liamentary representatives,  and  it 
was  only  natural  that  the  sovereign 
should  be  anxious  to  have  some 
control  over  them.  In  the  same  way, 
but  a  little  later,  the  people  were 
deprived  of  their  right  to  elect  con- 
servators of  the  peace;  and  the  only 
ancient  officer  whose  election  now 
remains  in  the  hands  of  the  people 
is  the  coroner. 

Conservators  of  the  peace  were 
of  two  classes — ^those  who  were 
such  virtute  officii,  and  those  who 
were  wardens  or  conservators  ot 
the  peace  svmpliciier.  Of  the  for- 
mer class  nothing  need  here  be 
said.  The  latter  derived  their 
power  and  authority  either  by 
prescriptive  tenure,  or  election. 
The  right  to  elect  conservators 
of  the  peace  was  vested  in  the  people 
and  election  was  made  before  tiie 
sheriff  at  the  county  court.  Lam- 
bard  in  his  Eirenarclia  gives  copies 
of  the  writ  to  the  sheriff  command- 
ing him  to  proceed  with  the  election, 
of  the  writ  to  the  bailiff  to  warn 
the  freeholders  of  the  county  to  ap- 
pear at  the  county  court  to  make 
election,  and  also  of  the  writ  to  the 
conservator  so  elected  confirming 
his  election.  The  last  writ  re- 
cited crnn  vicecomes  et  commv/nitas 
ejusdem  comitatus  elegerit  vos  in  cus- 
todem  pacts  nostrce  ibidem.  These 
elections — the  frequency  of  which 
nowhere  appears — continued  to  be 
made  up  to  the  beginning  of  the 
reign  of  Edward  III.,  when  the 
general  Commission  of  the  Peace 
was  taken  into  his  own  hands  by 
the  king. 

Opinions  very  much  differ  as  to 
the  time  when  conservators  of  the 
peace  as  such  were  first  appointed. 
Polydore  Virgil  says  that  justices 
of  the  peace  had  their  beginning  in 
the  reign  of  William  the  Conqueror. 
Coke  thought  the  first  appoint- 
ment was  made  in  the  6  Edward  I. 
Mr.  Prynne  dates  their  origin  at 



Jtistice^  of  the  Peace. 


tlietime'tbe  agreement  was  made  be- 
tween Edward  HE.  and  his  Barons, 
and  Sir  Henry  Spelman  is  of  opinion 
that  tbey  were  not  made  nntil  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Edward 
in.     J£  the  last  named  meant  the 
first  appointment  of  a  conservator 
of  the  peace  by  the  sovereign  by 
commission    he    was   right ;     but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that   they 
were  elected  by  the  people  long 
before  that  date,  as  is  clearly  shown 
by  the  writs  in  Lambard's  work  to 
which  allusion  has  just  been  made ; 
and  beyond  a   doubt   even  before 
•  the  Conquest  these  popular  elections 
took  plaice.     In  fine  the  fact  that 
they  were  originally  elected  by  the 
suffrages  of  the  people  raises  the 
presumption  of  an  origin  earlier  in 
date    than   the    period  when    the 
feudal  system  was  introduced  into 
this  country.     This  right  of  elec- 
tion was  not  interfered  with  until 
it  was  partially  done  by  Edward  II. 
so  far  as  concerned  the  shrievalty, 
and  by  Edward  III.  so  far  as  re- 
garded the  appointment  of  the  con- 
servators of  the  peace.  In  the  latter 
case     there    was    no    substantive 
abolition  of  the  right,  but  a  mere 
assumption  of  powers  by  the  king 
into  his  own  hands,  and  an  infer- 
ential abrogation  of  all  conflicting 
rights.    The  reason  why  Edward  II. 
took  to  himself  the  power  of  ap- 
pointing sheriffs  has  already  been 
given  ;  and  the  reason  why  Edward 
III.  is  supposed  to  have  thought 
the  appointment  by  himself  of  con- 
servators  of  the   peace  necessary 
was  for  the  purpose  of  suppressing 
any  commotions  which  might  arise 
consequenji    on   the    deposition    of 
Edward  II.  and  of  stifling  any  dis- 
cussion as  to  the  justice  or  injustice 
of  seemingly  so  ugly  a  measure. 
As     elections     would     bring    the 
people   together  it  was  inevitable 
that  such  an  opportunity  to  discuss 
recent  events  would  not  be  lost, 
and  as  it  was  highly  probable  that 
the  general  verdict  on  the  deposition 
of  the  late  king  would  be  unfavour- 

able to  himself,  Edward  III.  deemed 
it  a  wise  precaution  for  his  own 
safety  to  put  an  end  to  these  popular 
gatherings ;  and  so  that  by  selecting 
his  own  creatures  to  maintain  thie 
peace,  the    stability    of  his  own 
sovereignty     might     be    secured. 
Thus  the  people  were  defrauded  of 
a  right  hitherto  indisputably  theirs, 
and  since  this  high-handed  policr 
of  Edward  the  Third  the  power  of 
appointing  justices  of  the  peace  has 
been  exercised  by  the  Crown  alone. 
At  first  there  seems  to  have  heen 
no  limit  to  the  number  of  the  war- 
dens  or  keepers  of  the  peace  ap- 
pointed by  the  King's  Commission. 
The  Statute  1 8,  Edward  111,0.2, 
required  two    or    three    in  even- 
county.     Sixteen  years  later— thl'i 
number,    probably,     having    been 
found  insiificient — it  was  ordainpi 
by  the  34  Edward  III.,  c.  i,  that 
one  lord,   with   three  or    four  of 
the  best  reputation  in  the  county 
together  with  men  learned  in  the 
law,  should  bo  assigned  for  keeping 
the  peaoe.     The  office  being  one  of 
considerable    importance,     and  of 
no    little   honour,   and  men  being 
then  as  now  ambitious,  this  num. 
her  was   soon    exceeded,  and  the 
increase  was  so  great  that  it  was 
deemed   expedient   to   curtail   ihe 
number,  and  this  was  done  by  the 
Statute    12,    Richard    II.,    c.    10, 
which  limited  the  number  to  six  in 
each  county,  besides  the  justices  of 
assize  and  certain  lords  created  by 
Parliament.     Afterwards   this  was 
increased  to  eight  by  the  Statute  14, 
Richard  11.,  c.  11.     These  statutes 
do  not  appear  to  have  ever  been 
repealed — at  any  rate  not  specifi- 
cally— but  there  is  no  doubt  they 
have  become   quite  obsolete,   and 
there  is  now  no  restriction  what- 
ever as  to  the  number  which  may 
be  assigned  on  the  commission  of 
the  peace  in  any  county. 

The  power  of  making  justices  of 
the  peace  is  vested  in  the  sove- 
reign ;  but  it  is  needless  here  to 
say  that  an  appointment  is  never 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


made  hj  the  sovereign  personaUj-. 
Virtaallj  the  Lord  Chancellor,  as 
Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  has  the 
assignmeiit   entirely    in    his    own 
bands.    And  instead  of  the  country 
having  a  voice  in  the  nomination  of 
persons   for   the  office,    the  only 
reconunendation  required  and  the 
only     reoommendation     generally 
receiTabk,  is  a  nomination  by  the 
Lord  Lieatenant  of  the  connty  to 
the   Lord  Chancellor,   wherenpon 
the  comimssion  is  made  oat,  as  a 
roles,  as  a  matter  of  course.     In- 
deed, not  only  have  the  people  no 
voice  in  the  nomination,  but  it  has 
happened  that  where  tbe  people  felt 
strongly  against  the  appointment 
of  an  individual  as  justice  of  the 
peace  and  memorialised  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  the  latter  considered  it 
bisdniy  ioplease  the  Lord  lieutenant 
rather  than  to  grant  the  petition  of 
the  people.     It  is  difficult  to  ascer- 
tam  how,  when,  or  wherefore  this 
privilege  of  nominating  persons  as 
jusUceB  of  the  peace  came  to  be 
exercised  by  the  Lord  Lieutenant, 
whose  office  is  more  of  a  militaiy 
nature  than  civil,  and  certainly  a 
much  more  modem  one  than  that  of 
justice  of  the  peace.     There  can, 
however,  be   no   question  that   it 
gives  immense  power  and  influence 
to  Lords  Lieutenant ;  and  consider- 
ing that  most  of  these  are  promi- 
nent and  zealous  members  of  either 
of  the  two  great  political  parties 
and  often,  if  not  generally,  members 
of  either  of  the  Houses  of  Parha- 
nient;  and  considering  how  high 
political  feelings  run  sometimes  in 
connties  and   that  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant holds  his  position  for  life,  it 
is  not  exactly  a  matter  of  surprise 
to  find  political  bias  in  very  strong 
reHef  in   these   nominations — and 
the  magistracy  of  a  county  often  of 
a  very  marked  type — either  very 
bine  or  very  red,  in  strict  unison 
irith  the  political  party  to  which 
the  Lord  Lieatenant  may  belong. 
Chqoeism  also  is  very    powerful, 
^bny  men  pre-eminently  qualified 

are  often  conspicuous  by  their  ab- 
sence from  the  commission  of  the 
peace,  because  they  happen  to  differ 
in  politics  from  the  Lord  Lieutenant, 
or  are  not  on  the  best  terms  with  a 
clique  of  which  the  latter  forms  the 
centre,  or  care  not  to  trouble  them- 
selves in  getting  their  claims  sub- 
mitted to  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
while  in  almost  every  commission 
there  are  numbers  of  persons  who 
are  there  simply  on  account  of  their 
Whiggism  or  Toryism,  as  the  case 
may  be,  and  because  of  their  posses- 

This  leads  us  to  the  consideration 
of  the  qualifications  necessary  for 
a  justice  of  the  peace.  The  first 
statute  for  the  assignment  of  war- 
dens of  the  peace  (as  justices  were 
then  called) — i  Edward  III.,  statute 
2,  c.  1 6 — required  such  as  were 
appointed  should  be  'good  men 
and  lawful,  which  be  no  maintainers 
of  evil,  or  barretours  in  the  coun- 
try.' Later  statutes  of  the  same 
reign  required  them  to  be  of  the 
best  reputation  and  the  most  sub- 
stantial in  the  county;  and  the 
13  Bichard  11.,  statute  i,  c.  7,  or- 
dained that  justices  of  the  peace 
should  then  be  made  of  new  in  all 
places,  because,  it  is  presumed,  some 
names  had  crept  into  the  com- 
mission that  were  not  deemed 
quahfied  for  the  office,  and  these 
were  to  be  made  of  the  most  suffi- 
cient knights,  esquires,  and  men  of 
the  law.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
the  eighteenth  year  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  VI.  that  a  fixed  property 
qualification  was  finally  determined 
upon.  The  eleventh  chapter  of  the 
statutes  passed  in  that  year,  after 
reciting  that  by  various  earlier 
statutes  it  had  been  ordained  that 
in  every  county  should  be  assigned 
of  the  most  worthy  of  the  same 
counties  to  keep  the  peace,  &c.,  but 
that  notwithstanding  there  had 
crept  into  the  commission  'some 
of  small  having  (petit  avoir)  by 
whom  the  people  will  not  be  go- 
verned nor  ruled,  and  some  for  tl^ir 

N  2 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


necessity  do  great    extortion  and 
oppression  npon  the  people  whereof 
great  inconvenience    be   likely  to 
rise  daily  if  the  King  thereof  do 
not  provide   remedy/  and  having 
farther  recited  that  the  King  was 
willing  against  such  inconveniences 
to  provide  remedy,  ordained  :  *  That 
no  justice  of  the  peace  within  the 
realm  of  England  in  any  county 
shall  be  assigned  or  deputed,  if  he 
have  not  lands  or  tenements  to  the 
value  of  2oZ.  by  the  year.*     There 
was,  however,  this  further  proviso, 
'  that  if  there  be  not  sufficient  per- 
sons, having  lands  and  tenements  to 
the  value  aforesaid,  learned  in  the 
latv  and  of  good  governance  within 
any  such  county,   that   the    Lord 
Chancellor  of  England  for  the  time 
being  shall  have  power  to  put  other 
discreet  persons,  learned  in  the  law, 
in  such  commissions  though  they 
have  not  lands  or  tenements  to  the 
value    aforesaid.'      The    property 
qualification  thus  rendered  neces- 
sary reciained  unaltered  until  the 
5  George  II.,  cap.   i8,  which  en- 
acted that  no  justice  of  the  peace 
should  be  appointed  who  had  not  a 
freehold  or  copyhold  estate  to  and 
for  his  own  use  in  possession  for 
life,  or  for  some  greater  estate  either 
in  law  or  equity,  or  an  estate  for 
years  determinable  on  a  life  or  lives, 
or  for  a  certain  term  originally  cre- 
ated for  twenty-one  years  or  more 
of"  the  clear  yearly  value  of  looZ. 
over  and  above  what  will  satisfy 
and  discharge  all  incumbrances  af- 
fecting   the     same.      By    the    18 
George   II.,  cap.    20,  which  is  the 
Act  at  present  in  force  (subject  to  a 
partial  repeal  by  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment passed  in  1871  to  which  refe- 
rence will  hereafter  be  made),  the 
same  qualification  is  rendered  ne- 
cessary :  but  with  this  addition  or 
modification,  that  any  persons  en- 
titled to  an  immediate  reversion  or 
remainder  in  lands,  &c.  of  the  value 
of  300Z.  a  year  may  be  assigned  on 
the  commission  of  the  peace.     An 
oath,  as  prescribed  by  the  Act  last 

referred  to,  to  this  effect  must  be 
made  by  every  person  on  qualif jing 
himself  as  a  justice,  and  if  anyone 
acts  without  this  qualification,  he 
is  liable  to  a  penalty  of  lool.,  and 
the  proof  of  the  qualification  l< 
made  to  lie  on  the  defendant.  Thus 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  a  mere 
property  qualification — without  any 
regard  to  a  special  knowledge  of 
the  duties  of  the  office  or  even 
possession  of  common  sense — is  all 
that  is  now  required  to  enable  a 
person  to  occupy  one  of  the  most 
important  offices  in  the  country,  to 
become  an  administrator  of  the 
law  and  an  arbiter  of  the  liberties 
of  the  people.  It  is  indeed  a  most 
remarkable  thing  that  in  a  conntrr 
like  this,  so  proud  of  its  freedom 
and  liberties,  and  so  boastful  of  the 
excellence  of  its  laws — a  mere  pro- 
perty  qualification — ^the  possession 
of  so  many  broad  acres  and  friend- 
ship with  an  irresponsible  offici&l 
like  the  Lord  Lieutenant — should 
be  all  that  is  necessary  to  enable  a 
man  to  become  a  judge  over  his 

It  was  not  always  so.  Our  ances- 
tors  were  in  this  respect  more  saga- 
ciousthan  we  are.  The  whole  tenonr of 
the  ancient  law  was  most  decidedlr 
in  favour  of  the  qualificationof  lean- 
ing, and  a  knowledge  of  the  laws  of 
the  land  was  deemed  necessary. 
When  the  right  of  election  was 
vested  in  the  people,  of  course  every 
precaution  was  taken  to  appoint 
the  fittest  men  for  such  an  im- 
portant office,  or  if  not,  the  people 
had  only  themselves  to  blame.  iJid 
when  the  sovereign  took  the  matter 
into  his  own  hands  the  public  weal 
and  interest  was  at  any  rate  so  far 
studied  that  mere  wealth  and  md 
fluence  were  not  sufficient  qu&lij 
fications  for  the  office  of  justice  ofl 
the  peace.  In  all  the  early  com- 
missions there  were  sages  of  tha 
law  assigned.  The  18  Edward  EI., 
st.  2,  c.  2,  which  enacted  that  twd 
or  three  of  the  best  of  reputation  vt 
every  county  should  be  assigned 


Justices  of  tlie  Peace. 


keepers  of  the  peace  by  the  king's 
commisflion,  took  care   to  provide 
.tbat  the  determining  of  felonies 
and  trespasses    done    against   the 
peace  in  the  same  oonnties  shonld 
be  done  hy  the  same  loith  other  wise 
ami  learned  in  the  law.     These  wise 
men,  learned  in  the  law,  were  not 
mere  assessors  or  clerks  bat  were 
in  the  commission,   and    without 
them  no  cases   of  the  higher   or 
graver  class  could  be  dealt  with  or 
disposed  of.     The  34  Edward  EQ., 
c.  I,  also  required  some  men  learned 
in  the  lair  to  be  joined  in  the  com- 
mission in  every  county,  together 
with  one  lord  and  three  or  four  of 
the  most  worthy  in  the  shire.     By 
the  17    Rich.   11.,   c.    10,   it  was 
specifically  enacted  that  in  every 
commission  of  the  peace  through- 
oat  the  realm,  two  men  learned  in 
the  law,  of  the  same  county  where 
such  commission  should  be  issued, 
shonld  he   assigned    to    go     and 
proceed  to  the  deHverance  of  thieves 
and  felons  as  often  as  should  be 
deemed  expedient ;  and  the   same 
tender  care  for  the  due  administra- 
tion of  justice  is  manifestly  clear 
from  the    whole   tone   of   the    18 
Henry    VI.,     c.     11 — indeed    the 
only  construction  which  the  last- 
named    Act    is     reasonably      ca- 
pable of  is,  that  though  it  required 
a  property  qualification,    such    a 
qaab'fication  alone  was  not  sufficient, 
but   was    to    be   united   in  every 
person  nominated  to  the  office  with 
the  higher  qualification  of  an  ac- 
quaintaDce  with  the  laws  which  as 
justice  of  the  peace   he  would  be 
called  upon  to   administer.      The 
earher  statutes  do  not  convey  this 
idea  so  distinctly  as  the  last-named 
Act,  but  it  was  always   held   ne- 
3essary  that   a  certain  number  of 
men  skLUed  in  the  law  should  be 
Included     in    every     commission, 
rhey  formed  what  was  called  the 
Jnomm.      Two  justices  were   ne- 
%8sary  to  determine  all  the  more 
mportant  cases  in  ancient  times, 
md  of  the  two  in  every  case  one 

was  bound  to  be  of  the  Quorum — 
thus  affiDrding  a  guarantee  that  the 
decision  in  every  case  would  be  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  the  land  and 
not  according  to  the  whim  or  caprice 
of  an  ignorant  j  ustice .  Lambard  in 
his  Eirenarcha,  to  which  allusion  has 
already  been  made,  says  that  *  those 
of  the  Quorum  were  wont  (and  not 
without  just  cause)  to  be  chosen 
especially  for  their  knowledge  in 
the  laws  of  the  land  ;  *  and  further, 
in  the  quaint  style  of  the  period,  he 
justifies  this  :  — '  For,  albeit  a 
discrete  person  (not  conversant 
in  the  studie  of  the  lawes)  may 
sufficiently  follow  sundrie  par- 
ticular directions  concerning  this 
service  of  the  peace,  yet  when 
the  proceeding  must  be  by  way  of 
presentment  upon  the  evidence  of 
witnesses  and  the  oaths  of  jurors 
and  by  the  order  of  hearing  and 
determining  according  to  the 
straight  rule  and  course  of  law,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  learning  in 
the  lawes  is  so  necessary  a  light, 
as  without  the  which,  all  the  labour 
is  but  groping  in  the  darke,  the 
end  whereof  must  needes  be  errour 
and  dangerous  falling.* 

Lambard  pubUshed  his  work  over 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
and  it  must  be  confessed,  if  we 
consider  how  matters  have  since 
changed,  that  there  has  been  a  *  dan- 
gerous falling ;  *  for  since  his  day 
the  Quorum,  though  existing  in 
name  up  to  a  session  or  two  ago, 
no  longer  existed  in  reality,  and  no 
guarantee  whatever  remained  that 
they  of  the  Quorum  were  in  any 
way  whatever  acquainted  with  the 
laws  they  had  to  administer.  In- 
deed the  contrary  was  the  fact ;  for 
of  late  the  practice  was  to  name  all 
in  the  commission  of  the  peace 
simply  in  the  first  instance  and 
to  name  them  over  again  as  of 
the  Quorum  omitting  from  the 
latter  list  one  or  two  names  for  the 
sake  of  appearance.  How  this  came 
about  it  is  difficult  to  understand, 
but  with  the  laxity  which  generally 


Justices  of  the  Peace.  ^ 


permeates  a  system  in  itself  faulty, 
it  is  very  easy  for  matters  from  bad 
to  become  worse.  And  now  even 
the  semblance  of  the  Qnorum  is 
gone.  By  an  Act  passed  two  Ses- 
sions ago  (introduced  by  the  present 
Lord  Chancellor)  the  Quorum  is 
entirely  swept  away  and  all  magis- 
trates are,  by  their  commission, 
equal  and  have  the  same  powers. 

It  is  thus  seen  that  in  earlier 
times  every  precaution  was  taken 
that  only  men  duly  qualified  should 
be  appointed,  while  with  us  who 
live  in  better  and  more  enlightened 
times  no  precaution  whatsoever  is 
deemed  necessary  so  long  as  a 
man  has  the  requisite  property 
qualification.  It  might  be  fancied 
that  an  improved  public  opinion, 
aided  by  an  intelligent  and  indepen- 
dent Press,  would  not  have  re- 
mained so  long  without  having 
effected  a  much  needed  change  in 
this  important  matter — a  change 
which  should  at  any  rate  place  us 
in  as  good  a  position  as  our  remote 
ancestors.  And  it  is  very  strange 
that  the  only  measure  of  late  which 
had  for  its  object  any  improvement 
in  this  respect  elicited  no  mark  of 
public  approbation,  indeed,  was  not 
even  discussed,  but  fell,  still-bom, 
as  it  were,  from  its  promoter's 
hand  and  was  withdrawn  after  a 
first  reading.  Reference  is  made 
to  the  Earl  of  Albemarle's  Bill  in 
1870  for  repealing  the  Act  requiring 
property  qualification,  a  BiQ  excel- 
lent and  fair  in  its  principle, 
so  far  as  it  went,  but  falling 
far  short  of  the  requirements  of 
the  case.  It  would  of  course  re- 
move a  gross  injustice  but  it  would 
not  secure  a  much  better  adminis- 
tration of  justice. 

It  is  very  difficult,  almost  impossi- 
ble, to  account  for  the  public  indif- 
ference in  a  matter  of  such  moment. 
Many  scandals  and  gross  acts  of 
injustice,  popularly  known  as  'Jus- 
tices' justice,'  have  from  time  to 
time  been  exposed  in  the  papers, 
but  beyond  raising  a  passing  angry 

controversy,  such  exposures  have  as 
yet  produced  no  fruit.  No  action 
has  been  taken  by  the  public  in  the 
matter.  Surely  it  is  full  time  that 
some  able  and  persevering  pohtician 
should  take  this  subject  up  with  a 
determination  to  effect  a  change 
which  would  give  greater  security  to 
the  subject.  Besides,  the  times  are 
very  different  to  what  they  were. 
Originally  the  jurisdiction  of  jus- 
tices of  the  peace  was  very  limi- 
ted, while  now  they  are  enabled 
summarily  to  dispose  of  almogt 
every  case  that  can  possibly  be 
brought  before  them.  If,  there- 
fore, in  a  more  unenlightened  age 
only  men  having  special  knowledge 
of  the  law  were  appointed  as  jus- 
tices— or  at  any  rate  it  was  neces- 
sary in  trying  every  case  of  felony, 
that  one  of  the  justices  should  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  law— and  this  at 
a  time  when  their  duties  were  not 
by  any  means  so  great,  nor  their 
jurisdiction  by  any  means  so  ex- 
tensive, as  at  present — if  under 
such  circumstances  such  guarantees 
were  deemed  necessary  to  secure  the 
public  confidence,  how  far  more  ne- 
cessary is  it  now  that  only  qualified 
men  should  be  appointed  when  the 
jurisdiction  of  justices  of  the  peace 
at  Quarter  Sessions  falls  scarcely 
short  in  criminal  matters  of  tk 
jurisdiction  of  the  Judges  of  AssiK, 
and  when  so  very  large  a  propor- 
tion of  our  criminal  cases  are  triable 
and  constantly  tried  by  the  former, 
both  atPettyandat  Quarter  Sessions. 
I  doubt  whether  among  the  insti- 
tutions of  this  country — varied  as 
they  are — there  is  anything  so  ut- 
terly indefensible  as  the  presem 
system  of  appointing  justices  of  the 
peace.  It  is  true,  in  very  populous 
counties  there  are  generally,  where 
practicable,  appointed  as  Chaimian 
of  Quarter  Sessions  gentlemen  who 
as  barristers  are  supposed  to  have 
had  a  legal  training ;  but  in  many 
instances  they  are  barristers  onljk 
name,  totally  ignorant  of  even  the 
elementary  principles  of  law ;  while 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


in  many  other  counties  there  are 
Qiairmeii  who  are  lawyers  neither 
in  name  or  in  fact,  and  who,  '  good 
bonest  men,'  make  no  pretence  that 
they  are  either.     We  have  not  one 
word  to  saj  against  these  men,  who 
no  doubt  often  feel  acutely  their  own 
anonmloas  position.      We  hare  not 
the  slightest  doubt  they  are  con- 
sdentious,  and,  so  far  as  the  light 
that  is  in  them,  painstaking  men, 
whose  aim  and  endeavour  is  to  ad- 
minister justice  fairly  and   impar- 
tially; bnt  that  they  often  commit 
graTe  errors  cannot  be  denied.   And 
this  has  brought  about  a  want  of 
confidence    on    the     part     of    the 
pablic  which  is   fatal   to  the  due 
administration  of  justice.     Still   it 
is  not  of  the   men   we   complain. 
It  is  not  their  conduct  we  impugn, 
for  it  would  be  absurd  to  expect 
anything  better.     But  it  is  the  sys- 
tem which  permits  men  so  incom- 
petent to  sit  as  expounders  of  law 
and  as  administrators   of  justice. 
And  by  the  term  incompetent  it  is 
not  intended  to  disparage  them  in 
the  least,  or  to  insinuate  that  they 
are  men  of  inferior  calibre — which 
in  the  majority  of  cases  would  be 
untrue;  but  it  would  be  strange  if 
persons  who  have  not  systematically 
studied  law,  or  accustomed  them- 
selves to  weigh  evidence,  were  com- 
petent to  unravel  the  tangled  skeins 
of  legal   difficulties    which    often 
puzzle  men  who  have  devoted  their 
lives  to  its  study.     In  answer  to 
this  it   is  maintained    that    with 
the  present  property  qualification 
we  secure    the    services     of    the 
wealthy,  most  of  whom  have  been 
trained  at  the  Universities — all  of 
whom  have  received  a  liberal  edu- 
cation.   But  what  has  liberal  educa- 
tion to  do  with  it?     The  law  is  a 
science  so  peculiar  that,  unless  the 
jiiind  has  been  thoroughly  trained 
in  its  study,  the  chances  are  that 
anyone  attempting  to  dabble  with 
it  will   be    constantly    'groping,* 
as  Lamhard  has  it,  *  in  the  dark,' 
and  eventually  come  to  grief.    And 

tQ  contend  that  hecaiise  a  man  has 
had  a  liberal  education  he  is  capa- 
ble of  expounding  our  law — ^with  all 
its  niceties  and  all  its  technicalities 
— is  as  absurd  as  it  would  be  to  con- 
tend that  because  a  theologian  has 
received  a  liberal  education  he  is 
quite  as  competent  as  an  astronomer 
to  expound  the  laws  which  govern 
the  heavens. 

No  one  is  now  disqualified  from 
being  in  the  commission  of  the 
peace  if  he  is  in  possession  of  the 
necessary  propertj'-  qualification. 
No  matter  what  may  be  oik/s  call- 
ing or  profession.  But  curiously 
enough,  up  to  the  very  last  Session 
of  Parliament,  solicitors  and  proc- 
tors— the  very  men  one  would  think, 
who  would  be  best  qualified  for  the 
oflice  were  ineligible  for  the  magis- 
tracy. Their  incapacity  was  a 
statutory  enactment  dating  back  to 
the  first  statute  of  George  11.,  to 
which  reference  has  already  been 
made.  The  grounds  why  they 
were  rendered  ineligible  are  mani- 
fest. By  an  Act,  however,  passed 
in  the  Session  of  Parliament  of  187 1 
this  exception  has  been  removed; 
and  with  the  restriction  that  no 
solicitor  who  is  in  the  commis- 
sion, or  his  partner  are  to  practise 
in  the  courts  of  the  district  in 
which  he  may  be  assigned  as  a 
justice,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  Act  in  question  will  have  a 
most  salutary  and  beneficial  influ- 
ence inasmuch  as  it  will  secure  the 
-appearance  on  the  bench  of  men 
trained  to  the  work.  ^ 

Though  now,  therefore,  all  ex- 
ceptions have  been  removed,  still 
there  are  callings  which  subject 
those  belonging  to  them  who  are  in 
the  commission  of  the  peace  to 
certain  restrictions.  And  this  on 
the  ground  of  interest.  One  of 
the  fundamental  maxims  of  our 
law  is  that  no  one  may  be  a  judge 
in  his  own  cause  (nemo  debet  ease 
judex  in  propria  causd),  and  it  is  in 
furtherance  of  this  excellent  maxim 
that  a  class  interest  is  occasionally 


Justices  of  the  PecLce. 


made  synonymous  with  an  indi- 
Yidnal  interest.  For  instance,  no 
o-wner  of  a  factory  can  sit  as  a  jus- 
tice to  try  a  case  arising  nnder  the 
Factory  Acts.  No  owner  of  a  mine 
can  hear  a  case  arising  nnder  the 
Mines  Inspection  Acts.  No  miller 
or  baker  may  try  cases  nnder  the 
Bread  and  Flour  Act.  Under  the 
Truck  Act  there  are  disqualifica- 
tions. No  brewer,  distiller,  or  malt- 
ster can  as  a  magistrate  take  a  part 
in  the  granting  of  licences  to  public- 
houses.  In  some  instances  the  dis- 
qualificaiion  is  made  to  extend  to 
persons  who  are  allied  by  blood  or 
marriage,  or  in  partnership  with 
persons  so  prohibited.  Lord  West- 
bury  while  he  was  Lord  Chancellor 
is  said  to  have  expressed  an  opinion 
that  brewers  should  not  be  in  the 
commission  of  the  peace  at  all, 
because  of  the  influence  they  might 
bring  to  bear  on  the  granting  of 
licences  to  public-houses — the  source 
of  the  greater  part  of  the  crime  of 
the  country ;  and  during  the  time  he 
held  the  Great  Seal  no  brewer,  we 
believe,  was  made  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  No  other  chancellor  has 
gone  the  length  of  Lord  West  bury 
in  this  respect,  but  it  is  evident 
that  our  legislature  looks  with  a 
certain  degree  of  distrust  on  the 
influence  which  men  of  certain 
callings  may,  as  justices,  exercise 
on  the  trial  of  cases  connected  with 
their  trades  or  avocations.  But  the 
principle  is  not  carried  out  to  any- 
thing like  its  full  extent.  For  in- 
stance, the  great  majority  of  county 
justices  are  large  landed- proprietors 
and  almost  invariably  strict  pre- 
servers of  game;  still  they  are 
allowed  to  adjudicate  on  all  ques- 
tions of  poaching  or  trespassing  in 
pursuit  of  game.  Of  course  the 
maxim  above  quoted  prevents  the 
prosecutor  from  sitting  as  judge — 
though  it  is  said  cases  have  occxuTcd 
where  even  this  equitable  maxim 
has  been  ignored.  But  is  it  not 
almost  as  bad  that  other  magis- 
trates who,  as  strict  game  preserv- 

ers in  a  particular  locality,  have  a 
direct  interest  in  putting  do-vm 
poaching  in  their  neighbourhood, 
should  be  allowed  to  try  poachers  ? 
Possibly  they  all  try  to  do  their 
duty  fairly  and  impartially ;  but  so 
long  as  human  nature  is  what  it  is, 
and  so  long  as  game  preserving  is 
protected  by  law,  the  decisions  of  a 
game-preserving  magistracy  will  be 
more  or  less  tainted  by  prejudice 
and  harshness.  The  game  laws  are 
utterly  indefensible,  and  their  con- 
tinuance is  no  credit  to  the  legisla- 
ture and  extends  crime,  but  while 
they  remain  in  force  we  should 
at  any  rate  endeavour  to  secure 
justice  which  will  be  above  sus- 
picion, and  this  may  well  be  de- 
spaired of  if  the  offender  is  tried 
by  a  game-preserving  fraternity. 
Mr.  Seeley  gave  notice  of  his  in- 
tention to  introduce,  at  the  last  Ses- 
sion of  Parliament,  a  Bill  to  trans- 
fer to  Judges  of  the  County  Courts 
the  juris£ction  now  exercised  hr 
justices  of  the  peace  in  criminal 
cases  under  the  Acts  relating  to 
game.  But  he  did  not  do  so.  This 
would  be  an  improvement,  though 
we  would  far  rather  see  the  total 
abolition  of  the  game  laws.  It 
may  be  contended  that  the  above 
argument  is  unsound,  and  that  t  he 
magistrates  who  happen  to  be  game- 
preservers  have  no  more  direct  in- 
terest in  putting  down  poachers  than 
magistrates  who  possess  any  other 
property  have  in  putting  down 
stealing,  and  that  there  is  the  same 
chance  of  a  fair  decision  when  a 
poacher  is  tried  as  when  a  thief  is 
the  subject  of  trial.  But  this  is 
mere  casuistry.  The  difference  is 
really  a  substantial  one.  It  will  1» 
at  once  manifest  to  anyone  who 
will  seriously  consider  the  subject. 
In  many  other  instances  which 
could  be  named  there  is  a  consider- 
able danger  of  the  failure  of  justice. 
Magistrates,  not  from  personal  in- 
terest, but  from  class  interest — ^which 
often  exercises  as  powerful  an  in£a- 
ence  over  the  mind  as  where  the 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


indindnal  is  more  directlj  con- 
cerned—  are  sometimes  carried 
av&j  by  their  class  prejudices  to  do 
what  maj  be  not  strictly-  jnst. 

This  is,  however,  off  the  subject. 
Alltheseare  only  so  many  anomalies 
and  ineoDgnxities  in  a  system  utterly 
feulty,  and  even  if  they  were  removed 
would  in  fact  be  only  as  so  many 
patches.  And  it  is  very  question- 
able ii?hether  the  policy  of  patching 
a  system  so  much  at  variance  with 
the  tendencies  and  with  the  re- 
qniremeDts  of  the  age  is  desirable, 
and  whether  it  would  answer.  It 
might  silence  for  a  while  opposition 
to  the  system  ;  but  beyond  that,  it 
would  result  in  no  practical  good. 

^The  unpaid  magistracy,'  says 
Mr.  W.  R.  Greg,  a  very  moderate 
critic,  *is'  a  relic  of  past  days 
which  is  unsuitable  to  the  vastly 
enlarged  requirements  of  the  pre- 
sent .  .  .  The  gentlemen  who 
discharge  the  gravest  and  some- 
times most  difficult  function  of  the 
jodge,  are  nearly  all  untrained 
men.  If  lawyers,  they  are  so  only 
as  baring  nominally  been  called  to 
the  Bar,  or  having  attended  a  cir- 
cuit or  two  as  spectators.  They 
trust  to  their  common  sense  and 
their  natnral  feelings,  depend  upon 
their  clerk  for  the  announcement 
and  interpretation  of  the  law.  On 
the  whole  they  fall  into  fewer  er- 
rors and  give  fewer  questionable 
dedsions  than  could  be  expected 
.  .  .  and  it  is  only  in  rare 
cases  that  the  full  inadequacy  and 
anomaly  of  our  magisterial  arrange- 
ments are  brought  into  clear  light.' 

This,  at  any  rate,  is  taking  the 
most  temperate  view  of  the  matter. 
'  On  the  whole  they  fall  into  fewer 
errore  and  give  fewer  questionable 
decisions  than  could  be  expected  ! ' 
Why  should  Judges  be  expected  to 
give  any  questionable  decisions  ? 
Nothing  tends  so  much  to  shake  all 
faith  and  confidence  in  the  admin- 
istration of  justice  as  the  periodical 
c^qKWure  of  the  *  inadequacy  and 
anomaly  of  our  magisterial  arrange- 

ments '  bv  means  of  '  questionable 
decisions.  The  reign  of  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Shallow  and  of  Mr.  Nupkins 
has  been  long  enough.  The  pub- 
lic have  no  confidence  in  their 
decisions.  They  perhaps  satisfied 
the  requirements  of  a  ruder  age, 
but  are  quite  incompatible  with 
the  present  times ;  and  it  is  full 
time  that  the  subject  should  be 
thoroughly  considered  with  a  view 
to  a  remodelling.  In  no  other 
country  is  the  administration  of 
justice  left  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  untrained  and  unqualified  judges. 
In  no  other  country — despotic 
or  otherwise — ^would  such  a  sys- 
tem as  ours  be  tolerated.  The 
British  public  are  long-suf- 
fering and  patient,  not  by  any 
means  eager  for  changes ;  and 
to  this  is  due  the  fact  that,  in  this 
respect,  matters  stand  thus  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  It  is  quite 
clear  it  cannot  remain  so  much 
longer.  If  there  is  one  thing  cer- 
tain, it  is  the  fact  that  the  unpaid 
system  is  doomed — that  sooner  or 
later  it  must  give  way — unless  in- 
deed (a  contingency  by  no  means 
probable  however)  patriotism  in- 
duce qualified  lawyers  to  give  their 
services  gratuitously,  and  even  in 
that  case  the  existing  state  of  affairs 
must  cease  to  exist. 

The  only  remedy  for  the  evil  is 
the  appointment  of  stipendiary 
magistrates  throughout  the  coun- 
try. This  has  already  been  done 
in  the  metropolitan  districts,  and 
most  of  the  large  towns  throughout 
the  Kingdom  have  followed  the 
example.  All  our  stipendiary  ma- 
gistrates are  efficient  and  thorough- 
ly qualified  men — not  mere  nominal 
barristers,  but  carefully  selected 
from  the  number  of  those  actually 
practising  at  the  bar.  And  so 
w;ell  has  this  partial  change  an- 
swered, that  though  in  many  in- 
stances this  has  been  so  for  over 
thirty  years,  no  complaints  have 
been  made  and  no  fault  has  been 
found  with  their  decisions. 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 

I'     i 

made  sjnoiijinous   with   an    indi- 
vidual interest.     For  instance,  no 
owner  of  a  factory  can  sit  as  a  jus- 
tice to  try  a  case  arising  ncder  the 
Factory  Acts.    No  owner  of  a  mine 
can  hear  a  case  arising  nnder  the 
Mines  Inspection  Acts.     No  miller 
or  baker  may  try  cases  nnder  the 
Bread  and  Flour  Act.     Under  the 
Truck  Act  there   are  disqualifica- 
tions.   No  brewer,  distiller,  or  malt- 
ster can  as  a  magistrate  take  a  part    t 
in  the  granting  of  licences  to  public- 
houses.     In  some  instances  the  dis- 
qualification is  made  to  extend  t 
persons  who  are  allied  by  blood 
marriage,  or  in   partnership   "   ' 
persons  so  prohibited.    Lord  ''        \ 
bury  while  he  was  Lord  Ch'  ^ 

is  said  to  have  expressed  a' ,    i^ 
that  brewers  should  not   jf* 

becaiifio  of  the  infiuen  .  -d,  and 

bring  to  Lear  on  tj^*  o  instantly 
licences  to  public-hi^  ^fis  before  a 
of  the  greater  pp  ^  he  cost  of  keep- 
the  country ;  ai^  ^^^  ia  not  inconside- 
held  the  Groa  ;,Lirijjjfti'i-^on  be  made 
belieTe,  was  y^^.^i  hills  ignored  where 
peace.  Nv;"^^^  magistrate  is  a  sti- 
g-onethe  ['^^d  the  n umber  ignored 
in  thia  ^S?  ordinary  coimty  magis- 
thafc  f  ^u^'^  eommittedi  it  may  well 
certF  ^  itnd^^  ^1^^^  tlje  question  of 
fefi*  #  ^iiJtl  be  mutb  reduced.  Be- 
m  <!f_  wL>  slirtll  not  require  a  very 
I*       0^ 

ers  in  a  particular  If 
direct    interest    if  ^ 
poaching  in  thf '|  ;| 
should  be  allo'^;?  ^  ? 
Possibly  the*^  1 1, 

duty  fairly  ^ 
long  as  h;  " 
and  so  ^'  \ 
proter  /  • 
gam-    y  t-  , 
mr  '  ■  :: ,/ ', 



.  staf 
3  ei 
m  fai 
J  wcri 
ies  wen 
•f  counu 
.till  be  I 
.  .1 " .  .     "  '    '  jrks  of  tk 

J  ;'  ;•  '  on    resemble  it- 

t:  ^  '  ounty    courts— only 

:  *eir    delegated    judicial 

On  the  whole  such  a  sys- 
would  work  most  admirably, 
,  ould  not  be  much  more  expensiu 
to  the  ratepayers  (if  at  all),  would 
secure  the  maintenance  of  the  peace. 
protect  life  and  liberty,  win  ^iie 
confidence  of  the  pubhc  in  the  im- 
partiality of  justice,  and  put  us  on  a 
level  in  this  respect  with  other 
countries.  We  have  refraiDed  from 
entering  into  detail  as  to  tlie  ma- 
chinery to  be  adopted — our  object 
has  been  to  show  that  we  are  now 
much  worse  off  than  our  acceston 
were,  that  a  change  is  desirabk, 
and  to  indicate  the  direction  ic 
which  this  i^eform  should  be  cv 

J.  R.  P. 





^ad,  but 

>f  him. 




tP    <<?i» 




.oe.  The 
nero  can  be 
.adle  standard.  In 
asme  proportion  as  he 
.jied  bj  his  partisans  he  is 
'  bj  bis  opponents ;  and  the 
fsadon  of  his  virtues  on  the  one 
mk  18  accepted  by  the  other  as  a 
direct  cballoDge  to  enumerate  his 

A  cnricms  illustration  of  this  has 
hely  been  afforded  bj  a  contro- 
icrsf  concerning  the  Hindoo  di- 
vinitr  Jagannath.  The  question, 
vlucb  at  first  related  to  the  mo- 
n%  or  immoralitj  of  his  worship, 
bas  at  length  been  transferred  to 
tlie  personal  character  of  the  god. 
Jagannath,  as  is  well  known,  has 
not  hitherto  borne  the  best  of  repu- 
tations; bat  mythic  immortals  have 
been  maligned  before  this  time,  and 
it  is  moie  than  probable  that  pos- 
teri^  Trill  reverse  the  verdict  which 
Anglo-Indians  have  been  wont  to 
pass  npon  <  Jagannath  and  his  car.' 
We  knoir  that  the  early  Christian 
ETangehsts  showed  considerable 
prejadico  as  well  as  temper  in  their 
treatment  of  the  Olympic  pantheon ; 
tbat  they  put  a  more  unfavourable 
coQstrociion  upon  the  characters  of 
its  members  than  was  warranted  by 
classic  scripture;  and  that  the 
^cal  systems  of  heathenism  re- 
ceived very  scanty  justice  at  their 

hands.  Our  Indian  missionaries 
have  frequently  laid  themselves 
open  to  the  same  censure  with  even 
less  excuse  in  these  days  of  liberal- 
ity than  the  men  who  laid  the  foun- 
dations of  our  faith   in  the  Dark 

■^es.  When  Ward,  the  venerable 
*ist  missionary  of  Serampore, 
^ed  his  great  work  upon  the 
literature,  and  mythology 
i.indoos,  he  gave  such  undue 
-iinence  to  the  obscener  parts  of 
.iieir  traditions  and  morals,  that 
Henry  Martyn  jocularly  suggested 
the  text,  *  And  the  dirt  came  out ' 
(Judges  iii.  22),  as  the  most  appo- 
site motto  that  could  be  found  for 
the  book. 

Some  allowance  is,  of  course,  to 
be  made  for  the  feelings  of  men 
who  pass  their  lives  in  a  hot  com- 
bat with  heathenism ;  and  it  could 
hardly  be  expected  of  ordinary 
mortals  that  in  such  a  position 
their  judgments  could  be  kept  alto- 
gether free  from  bias.  But  from 
the  prejudiced  and  illiberal  treat- 
ment of  another  faith  Christianity 
receives  no  assistance.  The  simple 
assertion  of  its  intrinsic  religious 
and  ethical  superiority  will  do  infi- 
nitely more  to  forward  the  mission- 
ary cause  than  captious  and  un- 
generous attacks  upon  the  Hindoo 

A  brief  resmne  of  the  Jagannath 
controversy  will  throw  a  good  deal 
of  light  upon  modem  Hinduism  as 
well  as  missionary  work.  We  gene- 
rally suppose  ourselves  to  be  better 
acquainted  with  Jagannath  than  any 
of  the  other  Hindoo  deities.  '  Jug- 
gernaut's car '  is  familiar  to  thou- 
sands who  know  nothing  else  of 
Hindoos  and  Hinduism.  Sensa- 
tional stories  of  the  atrocities  prac- 
tised at  his  festivals,  of  devotees 
ground  to  dust  beneath  his  chariot 
wheels,  of  pilgrims  perishing  by  the 
ten  thousand  of  want  and  disease  at 
every  gathering  upon  the  plains  of 


Jagannath  and  his  Worship. 


Puri,  and  of  the  obscene  and  loath- 
some rites  nsed  in  solemnising  his 
worship,  have  long  since  been  worn 
threadbare.  From  what  we  know  of 
Hindoo  superstition  we  can  easily 
conceive  that  fanatics  wonld  be  mad 
enough  to  immolate  themselves  at 
the  shrine  of  Jagannath  in  the  hope 
of  a  certain  immortality;  we  can 
imagine,  too,  that  the  priests  wonld 
find  it  to  their  profit  to  encourage 
such  sacrifices.  But  the  incontest- 
able fact  that  from  the  acquisition 
of  Orissa  by  the  English  the  great 
seat  of  Jagannath's  worship  was 
kept  closely  under  the  surveillance 
of  our  officers,  and  that  Government 
exercised  an  intimate  interference 
with  the  management  of  the  shrine 
and  the  conduct  of  the  festivals,  is 
sufficient  to  show  that  these  stories 
are  grossly  exaggerated.  Had  self- 
immolation  at  Jagannath*s  festival 
been  as  notorious  as  alleged,  we 
cannot  doubt  that  it  would  have  been 
prohibited  by  a  special  Act  of  the 
Legislature  as  well  as  the  rite  of 
Sati.  The  revenues  of  the  shrine 
of  Puri  were,  moreover,  under  the 
control  of  Government  up  to  1849, 
and  too  much  depended  upon  their 
deference  to  the  opinion  of  the 
English  for  the  priests  to  become 
active  promoters  of  fanatical  suicide. 
But  the  mortality  from  other  causes 
was  quite  sufficient  to  make  the 
name  of  Jagannath  ominous.  In 
an  immense  concourse  of  pilgrims, 
not  unfi^equently  carrying  with  them 
the  germs  of  disease,  their  minds  as 
much  intoxicated  by  excitement  as 
their  bodies  are  physically  reduced, 
and  all  huddled  together  night  and 
day  in  a  miserable  little  town  upon 
a  low-lying,  malarious  strip  of  coast, 
epidemics  are  inevitable,  and  the 
loss  of  life  has  sometimes  been  suffi- 
ciently appalling.  But  the  pre- 
cautions taken  by  the  authorities 
now-a-days  reduce  the  risk  of  an 
epidemic  to  a  minimum.  The  other 
charge,  of  obscene  and  immoral 
practices^  seems  to  be  even  more 
captious/     Of   course,   in   gather- 

ings of  such  magnitude  as  the 
annual  melas  at  Puri,  Serampore, 
and  other  seats  of  Jagannath's 
worship,  excess  and  immorality  mast 
to  some  extent  occur ;  but  all  the 
reliable  evidence  has  hitherto  gone 
to  show  that  the  people  are  more 
decent  and  orderly  than  any  Eng- 
lish multitude  of  the  same  dimen- 
sions would  be.  From  a  personal 
observation  of  three  festivals  of 
Jagannath  at  Serampore,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Calcutta,  the  second 
seat  of  Jagannath's  worship,  the 
writer  has  no  hesitation  in  asserting 
that,  apart  from  the  feeling  that  the 
whole  ceremonial  is  essentiaUyidola- 
trous  and  barbaric,  there  is  nothing 
said  or  done  by  either  priests  or 
worshippers  that  need  ofiend  the 
taste  of  the  most  extreme  precisian. 
Jagannath  is  one  of  the  newest 
of  Hmdoo  deities.  He  belongs  to 
the  Krishnaic  cycle  of  divine  mani- 
festations, all  of  which  have  been 
developed  long  subsequent  to  the 
Vedic  age,  and  to  none  of  which  is 
a  high  antiquity  assignable.  After 
the  supernatural  has  been  elimi- 
nated, all  that  can  bo  gleaned  Irom 
tradition  regarding  Krishna  appears 
to  be  that  he  belonged  to  the 
Yadava  clan,  a  sept  of  the  great 
Aryan  family  but  lately  arrived  in 
India,  and  which  at  the  time  of 
Krislma's  birth,  at  Mathura  within 
the  Aryan  pale,  had  not  obtained 
a  fixed  settlement;  that  his  tribe 
subsequently  occupied  the  lands  of 
Dwarka  in  the  Guzerat  peninsula; 
that  he  freed  his  people  from  the 
oppression  of  tyrants;  that  his 
cliaracter  was  cast  in  an  uncommon 
mould,  in  which  strong  virtues  and 
the  grossest  vices  were  freely 
mingled ;  and  that  he  was  pre- 
eminent in  cunning  and  wisdom 
above  all  his  compeers.  To  ns  he 
seems  a  shadowy  sort  of  Hindoo 
Solomon;  but,  in  course  of  time, 
the  Brahmins  succeeded  in  clothing 
him  with  a  new  personality,  in 
inventing  for  him  a  new  biography, 
and  in   placing  him  in  the  fore- 


Jagannath  and  his  WoraJiip. 


front  of  the  Pauranic  pantheon. 
Krishna,  the  Yadavan  cowherd,  is 
now  reco^ised  as  an  avatara  of 
the  god  Viahnn.  The  destroyer  of 
a  few  tyrants  is  celebrated  as  the 
deliverer  of  the  earth  from  giants 
and  oppressors.  A  lofty  Imeage 
has  been  fonnd  ont  for  him,  con- 
necting him  with  the  princes  of  the 
solar  race.  Miracles  without  end 
have  been  invented  to  magnify  his 
name  and  authenticate  his  divinity ; 
all  the  artifices  that  Brahmins  could 
command  have  been  employed  in  his 
apotheosis  ;  whole  books  have  been 
forged  in  support  of  his  divinity; 
and  by  the  time  that  Hinduism  has 
assnmed  its  present  form,  Krishna 
has  become  the  most  popular  of  its 
deities.  The  old  Vedic  gods,  typi- 
fying the  great  agencies  of  nature, 
have  been  forgotten  ;  the  Pauranic 
triad  and  its  sateUites  have  in  a 
great  measure  been  cast  into  the 
shade,  and  the  people  are  prostrate 
before  the  altars  of.  a  new,  a  na- 
tional divinity. 

Our  enquiries  into  the  causes 
which  led  to  the  sudden  deification 
of  Krishna  and  the  general  establish, 
ment  of  his  worship  cannot  in  the 
present  condition  of  Oriental  re- 
search pass  the  bounds  of  conjec- 
ture. But  there  are  a  few  historical 
facts  which  we  can  hardly  err  in 
connecting  vrith  the  subject.  Budh- 
ism  had  become  so  popular  a  creed 
that  the  very  foundations  of  Brah- 
minism  were  being  shaken  by  its 
successes.  The  democratic  teach- 
ing of  Gautuma,  the  new  and  lofty 
estimate  which  he  took  of  humanity, 
and,  above  all,  the  future  freedom 
from  sorrow  and  suffering  which 
he  held  out  to  an  oppressed  and 
priest-ridden  people,  met  with  no  • 
comterpoises  in  the  religion  of  tlie 
Brahmins.  A.  spirit  of  rationalism 
was  abroad,  and  priests  could  no 
lon^r  command  men's  religious 
allegiance  by  appeahng  to  suoli 
legends  as  Yishnu  diving  in  dsh 
&rm  into  the  eternal  abyss  to  bring 
up  the  holy  Vedas,  or  that  the  same 

deity  in  the  form  of  a  tortoise  sup- 
ported the  new-made  earth  upon 
his  back.  No  means  of  stimulating 
men's  devotion  and  saving  the  Brah- 
minical  order  remained  except  a  re- 
ligious revival.  To  men  possessed 
of  the  learning  and  inflnence  of  the 
Brahmins  it  was  no  difficult  ta^k  to 
kindle  such  a  feeling.  Accordingly 
they  gave  out  that  Kama,  the  prince 
of  Ayodhya,  in  whose  fame  the 
whole  Aryan  stock  claimed  an  in- 
terest, and  in  whom  Brahmin  ism 
had  found  its  most  illustrious  cham- 
pion, was  an  avatara  of  the  god 
Vishnu ;  and  the  great  poem  of 
Valmiki  which  commemorates  the 
life  and  exploits  of  the  hero  became 
thus  invested  vrith  a  sacred  charac- 
ter. There  can  be  little  doubt  that 
the  Brahmins  have  interpolated  in 
the  original  epic  many  passages  in 
support  of  their  order.  Thus  we 
discover  half-way  through  the  poem 
that  all  the  troubles  of  Biuna's 
father,  the  bereaved  King  Dasara- 
tha,  sprang  from  a  curse  laid  upon 
him  by  a  Brahmin,  whose  son  he  had 
unintentionally  slain;  an  idea  which 
we  may  safely  assume  could  not 
have  been  present  in  Valmiki's  mind 
when  he  cast  the  plot  of  the  Bor- 
mayana.  By  such  artifices,  and 
by  identifying  their  enemies  the 
Budhists  with  the  demons  and 
monsters  against  whom  Rama  had 
combated,  the  Brahmins  instilled  a 
new  life  into  Hinduism. 

But  Bamawas  not  alone  sufficient 
to  serve  their  turn .  The  history  of  a 
Kshetrya  prince  who  had  won  fame 
and  immortality  chiefly  by  his  aid- 
ing and  obeying  the  Brahmins 
might  serve  to  excite  the  devotional 
feelings  of  the  two  higher  castes,  but 
how  were  the  masses  to  be  moved  ? 
To  meet  this  want,  a  more  demo- 
cratic deification  was  next  at- 
tempted. Krishna,  the  popular 
hero,  the  subverter  of  tyrants,  was 
raised  to  the  rank  of  a  divinity; 
and,  as  in  the  case  of  Kama,  re- 
course was  had  to  literary  forgery 
to  give  credit  to   the   apotheosis. 


JagannatJi  and  his  Worship. 


There  is  a  grave  stLspicion  attacliing 
to  the  introiduotioii  of  Krishna  into 
the  great  epic  poem  of  the  Mahah- 
harata.  Such  an  episode  as  the 
Bhagavat  Oita  in  the  Bishma 
Parva  or  sixth  book  of  the  poem, 
in  which  Elrishna  and  the  wounded 
Arjima  hold  a  long  religions  and 
philosophical  disputation  before  the 
commencement  of  the  battle,  and 
in  which  Krishna,  of  course,  trium- 
phantly vindicates  the  favourite 
dogmas  of  Brahminism,  is  incon- 
testably  spurious.  But  for  the 
wholly  illiterate  character  of  the 
people,  such  frauds  as  the  Bha^ 
vat  could  never  have  been  per- 
petrated. But  the  character  and 
attributes  of  the  new  god  must  have 
at  once  captivated  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  masses,  even  without  the  aid 
of  scripture.  In  the  worship  of 
Krishna  caste  was  for  the  first  time 
disregarded  ;  and  the  pariah  might 
'participate  in  the  holiest  rites  of  his 
worship  as  freely  as  the  twice-born 
Brahmin.  His  deification  was  also 
intended  to  appeal  to  the  genial 
side  of  human  nature,  and  hence  the 
stress  laid  upon  his  amatory  and  mu- 
sical exploits.  The  whole  character 
of  Krishna  seems  to  have  been  skil- 
fully delineated  to  catch  the  afi*ec- 
tions  of  the  Hindoo  masses:  his 
faults  are  those  which  they  could 
most  readily  condone;  and  his 
virtues,  especially  the  overthrow  of 
oppression  and  brute  force  by  intel- 
lectoal  cunning,  such  as  could  not 
fail  to  win  their  sympathy.  Like 
Rama,  Krishna  is  also  put  forth  as 
the  deadly  foe  of  Budhism.  Com- 
bining these  facts  with  the  leading 
idea  of  Krishna's  divine  character, 
his  accessibility  to  men  of  all  castes 
and  classes,  we  may  be  able  to  conjec- 
ture the  way  in  which  the  Hindoo 
revival  was  brought  about,  so  as  to 
ultimately  extinguish  the  worship 
of  Budha  on  the  Indian  continent, 
and  the  feelings  which  secured  for 
Krishna  the  popularity  which  we 
find  his  worship  enjoying  in  modem 

It  has  been  the  prevailing  ten- 
dency of  Hindoo  mythology,  be- 
ginning from  the  time  that  they 
first  subjected  divine  nature  to  au 
analysis,  to  break  up  all  thegreatgods 
into  a  number  of  smaller  divinities. 
So  important  a  personage  as  Krishna 
could  scarcely  escape  this  process. 
We  accordingly  find  the  god  wor- 
shipped under  three  other  principal 
forms.  As  Gopala  he  is  adored  under 
the  form  of  an  infant^  and  is  a 
popular  object  of  female  and  ma- 
ternal worship;  as  Gopinath,  the 
milkmaids*  god,  he  is  held  out  to 
the  homage  of  lovers  and  rural 
swains ;  but  it  is  as  Jagannath,  *the 
Lord  of  the  World,'  that  the  distiac- 
tive  characteristics  of  Krishna  have 
been  preserved  in  modem  Hinduism. 

What,  now,  is  the  connection  be- 
tween Jagannath  and  Krishna? 
This  point  is  still  a  matter  of  con- 
troversy, and  our  safest  plan  is  to 
give  both  sides  of  the  story.  The 
popular  version  states  that  Krishna 
was  accidentally  slain  by  a  hunter 
in  the  jungle,  and  his  body  lay  un- 
discovered until  only  the  bones 
remained.  Vishnu,  whose  spirit 
had  inhabited  the  form  of  Krishna, 
put  it  into  the  heart  of  a  pious  king 
called  Indradyumna  to  make  an 
image  in  which  these  sacred  rehcs 
might  be  placed.  ludradyrunna 
sought  and  obtained  the  assistance 
of  Yishvakarma,  the  architect  of 
the  gods,  but  the  condition  was 
annexed  that  the  divine  artist  was 
not  to  be  disturbed  until  his  work 
had  been  perfected.  In  a  single 
night  a  lofty  temple  of  unrivalled 
splendour  made  its  appearance  upon 
the  hills  of  Orissa  ;  but  the  king  was 
unable  to  control  his  curiosity,  and 
•he  broke  in  upon  Yishvakarma 
when  only  the  head  and  trunk  of 
the  image  was  completed.  The 
indignant  Yishvakarma  returned 
to  heaven,  nor  could  any  supplica- 
tions induce  him  to  resume  the 
work,  and  thus  it  happened  that  the 
image  of  Jagannath  remains  a  mem- 
berless  trunk. 


Jagarmatk  and  his  Worship. 


}iow  for  the  version  whicli  bears 
tbelatestanthorilyof  thepnndits.  In 
Angnst  last  the  Shome  Frokashy  the 
leading  Ternacalar  paper  of  Bengal, 
contained  an  interesting  article  upon 
the  subject,  which   embodies    the 
popular  idea  of  orthodox  Hinduism 
concerning  Jagannath  and  his  wor- 
ship.   The  legend  is  as  follows : — 
"The  Causeless  and  the  Eternal  One 
was  visible  in  his  glory  on  the  blue 
lulls  of  Orissa  on  the  sea  coast  to 
the  south  of  the  Mabanudd  j  in  the 
form  of  Xilmadhub.    Once  on  a  day 
Easinath^a  certain  king,  thought  of 
warring  with  Visbnu,  tiie  destroyer 
oi  the  Asnras.    Mahadeva  promised 
Uiiii  the  king.     On  the  occasion  a 
great  war  ensued   between  Maha- 
deva and  Vishnu.     The  former  was 
defeated  and  compelled  to  seek  the 
protajtion  of  the  victor.   Mahadeva 
was  now  commanded  to  proceed  to 
Hachul,'  and     there    to    glorify 
Vishnu,  manifest    in  the  form    of 
Xilmadhnb.    In    the    Satya  Yuga 
(the  golden  age)    at  the   city  of 
Oojein  (m    Central    India)    there 
lived  a  king  named  Indradyumna. 
One  day  the   divine  sage  Narada 
sang  to  him  the   glories  of   Nil- 
Baadhub  of    Nilachul,    which     so 
^^TFOught  upon  him   that,    accom- 
paniei  bj  his  people  and  his  priest, 
he  started  for  Orissa  to  worship  the 
god.    It  took  him  three  months  to 
reach  his  destination.  On  his  arrival 
he  heard  that  Nilmadhub  had  dis- 
appeared from  the  earth.  The  king's 
sorrow  was  now  boundless.     Food 
and  rest  were  no  longer  his,  till  at 
length  Nihnadhub  appeared  to  him 
in  a  dream  and  comforted  him  with 
the  assurance  that,  though  no  longer 
visible  to  man  in  his  former  shape, 
he  would  still  reappear  under  his 
holKT  form  of  wood,  and  that  this 
divine  wooden  form  would  be  visible 
in  all  ages.     The  king  now  began 
to  look  for  this  piece  of  wood.     It 
so  happened  that  a  man  informed 
him  of  a  piece  of  mmba  wood  which 
had  been  cast  ashore  in  Pooroosha- 
tnm  by  the  sea  waves  from  the  8het 

Dwipa  (white continent) .  This  piece 
of  wood  was  said  to  have  been  dis- 
tinguished by  the  marks  of  a  conch, 
wheel,  club,  and  lotus,  the  usual 
badges  of  the  divinity,  and  the  king 
with  great  delight  caused  it  to  be 
brought,  and  by  the  advice  of 
Narada  had  it  cut  into  the  shape  oT 
Jagannath,  by  the  divine  architect 
Yishvakarma.  All  this  took  place 
in  the  Satya  Yuga.' 

We  give  this  legend  verbatim 
from  the  native  translation,  not  be* 
cause  it  has  any  mythological  value, 
but  because  it  afiPords  us  a  curious 
illustration  of  the  tactics  of  modem 
Binduism.  It  will  be  observed  that 
the  connection  between  Krishna  and 
Jagannath  has  been  repudiated,  and 
that  the  latter  iff  made  to  derive  his 
divinity  direct  from  Vishnu.  An- 
other Pauranic  tradition  might  be 
cited  in  support  of  this  view,  for  the 
piece  of  nimba  wood  mentioned 
above  is  said  to  have  sprung  from  a 
single  hair  of  Vishnu,  which  took 
root  in  the  earth  and  became  a  tree. 
But  unless  the  authority  of  the 
Pauranas  is  to  be  entirely  set  aside, 
as  well  as  the  current  belief  of  the 
masses,  the  sanctity  of  Jagannath 
flows  fix)m  the  relics  of  Krishna 
which  were  placed  within  the  ori- 
ginal image,  and  the  interest  mani- 
fested in  Jagannath  by  Vishnu  was 
only  due  to  the  relationship  between 
Krishna  and  the  new  god.  An  ob- 
jection taken  in  the  same  article 
upon  chronological  grounds  to  the 
possibility  of  Jagannath,  who  be- 
came manifest  in  the  Satya  Yuga  or 
golden  age,  being  an  incarnation  of 
Krishna  in  the  end  of  the  Dwapara 
Yuga,  or  the  second  age  after  the 
golden  one,  or  a  diflerence  of  at 
least  five  thousand  years,  is  too 
frivolous  to  be  mentioned,  for  the 
whole  body  of  the  Pauranic  scrip- 
tures is  composed  of  as  glaring 
anachronisms.  Whatever  the  pun- 
dits may  say,  the  identity  of  Krishna 
and  Jagannath  cannot  be  disproved 
in  the  present  day,  for  besides  the 
current  tradition  there  are  historical 


Jagannath  and  his  Worship, 


facts  wliich  nnmistakably  indicate 
the  connection. 

Both  accounts  agree  in  attribut- 
ing the  establishment  of  Jagan- 
nath* s  worship  to  Indradyumna,  a 
king  who  came  to  Orissa  fix>m  the 
far  west.  Indradyumna  was  pro- 
bably one  of  those  Aryan  chieftains 
who  had  not  yet  obtained  a  settle- 
ment for  his  people,  and  whose  clan 
brought  with  them  the  creed  which 
was  then  popular  in  Central  India 
and  Hindustan.  Whether  or  not 
they  carried  with  them  any  sup- 
posed relics  of  Krishna  we  cannot 
say;  but  it  was  by  no  means  im- 
probable, and,  we  could  point  to  a 
parallel  in  the  history  of  more  than 
one  European  migration.  The  title 
Jagannath,  *the  Lord  of  the  World/ 
may  at  first  have  simply  been  an  as- 
sertion of  the  image's  pre-eminence, 
but  it  was  unmistakably  Krishna 
that  was  worshipped  under  that 
designation.  But  whatever  may 
have  been  the  exact  date  of  In- 
dradyumna's  arrival,  it  was  long 
before  the  worship  of  Jagannath 
gained  an  ascendency  in  Orissa. 
The  legends  of  the  early  greatness 
of  the  shrine  before  the  Christian 
era  are  as  idle  as  the  story  of  the 
temple  built  by  Vishvakarma  in  a 
single  night.  The  worship  of  Ma- 
hadeo  was  the  prevailing  religion 
in  Orissa  as  late  as  the  seventh 
century,  and  to  Mahadeo  succeeded 
the  worship  of  the  Sun,  which  con- 
tinued to  flourish  far  into  the  thir- 
teenth century,  so  that  Jagannath 
did  not  acquire  pre-eminence  until 
between  four  and  five  hundred 
years  ago.  According  to  Stirling, 
who  until  Dr.  Hunter's  recent  work 
was  the  highest  authority  upon  the 
province  of  Orissa,  Jagannath's 
present  temple  was  built  in  1 196-98, 
and  it  was  with  the  erection  of  the 
new  temple  that  the  fame  of  the 
shrine  began  to  spread.  But  it  is 
highly  probable  that  the  popularity 
of  Puri  as  a  place  of  pilgrimage  did 
not  spring  so  much  from  the  in- 
trinsic sanctity  of  the  idol  as  from 

the  general  diffusion  of  the  worship 
of  Krishna  throughout  the  conti- 
nent.   The  Muhammedans  had  now 
overrun  ^he  country,  and  the  exer- 
cise  of  the  Hindoo  religion,  though 
tolerated  by  the  State,  was  shorn 
of  much  of  its  ancient  importance. 
The  remote  province  of  Orissa  was, 
however,  out  of  the  way  of  Mc^hal 
arms,     and     until    the     sixteenth 
century,   when  the  Muhammedans 
gained  a  permanent  footing,  Jagan. 
nath  presented  this  advantage,  that 
the    Hindoos   could   celebrate  the 
rites  of  their  religion  with  no  scorn- 
ful  Mussulman  standing  by  to  deride 
their  piety.     This  feeling,  we  might 
suppose,   must  have   added  nmch 
to  the  attractions  of  Jagannath's 
shrine^  as   a  place  "of  pilgrima^. 
But  as  the  Muhammedan  annalists, 
from  whom  alone  we  can  learn  any- 
thing of  India  during  the  Middle 
Ages,   contemptuously  ignore  the 
creed  of  the  conquered,  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  us  to  trace  the  in- 
temal  progress  of  Hinduism  nntil 
the  arrival  of  the   British  in  the 
East.     We  know,  however,  that  in 
1733  the  oppressions  of  Muhammad 
Takki    Khan,    the    deputy  of  the 
province,  brought  the  service  of  the 
shrine  to  a  standstill,  and  the  Rajah 
fled  with  the  idol  to  the  wild  hiUs 
beyond  the  ChilkaLake.  Pilgrimage 
was  now  at  an  end,    so   was  the 
pilgrim  tax  which  the  Moghals  had 
early  begun  to  levy,  and  the  result 
was  a  loss  to  the  Bengal  excheqa^ 
estimated  at  9o,oooZ.  per  annum. 
The  first  care  of  the  zealous  Mu- 
hammedans  who  succeeded  Takki 
in  the  government  was  to  compel  the 
Bajah  to  place  the  idol  again  in  the 
temple,  and  to  reopen  the  annual 
pilgrimage ;  and  the  pious  moolavis 
who  wrote  the  history  of  the  period 
do  not  seem  to.  have  said  a  word 
of  censure  to  these   promoters  of 

Early  in  the  sixteenth  century  a 
remarkable  revival  of  the  worship 
of  Vishnu  upon  the  basis  of  Krishna's 
divinity  took  place  in  Bengal.   Tliis 

Jagawnath  and  his  WaraMp. 


wu  effected  almost  solely  hy  the 
i^oy  of  an  enthusiastic  fanatic 
named  Chaitan ja.  HJe  was  bom  at 
Kaddiah,  then  the  most  famons 
school  for  theology  and  philosophy 
in  Bengal,  in  the  year  1485.  Al- 
tfaoQgh  bom  a  Brs^bmin,  he  seems 
from  his  yonth  to  have  spnmed 
the  restrictions  of  caste,  and  to  have 
early  imbibed  the  idea  that  the 
lowest  are  as  the  highest  in  the 
sight  oC  God.  Nevertheless  he 
went  through  the  regular  Brah- 
minical  cnrriculam,  begone  himself 
a  teacher,  and  was  twice  married 
aoooidiog  to  the  orthodox  rites. 
KiishiOL  was  the  great  object  of  his 
devotion,  the  Bhagtwat  QUa  his 
diief  study,  and  his  enthnsiasm  led 
him  at  length  to  undertake  a  pil- 
grimage to  Mathnra,  the  scene  of 
the  god's  birth  and  early  exploits. 
Oa  his  road,  however,  he  was 
stopped  by  a  voice  from  heaven, 
which  sent  him  back  to  his  own 
couitrj  to  proclaim  the  riches  of 
Krishna's  love  to  his  own  people, 
hi  fact,  his  enthusiasm  seems  at 
diis  time  to  have  culminated  in 
insaniiy;  but  there  was  a  method 
in  his  madness,  inasmuch  as  he 
nerer  lost  sight  of  the  divine  cha- 
racter of  Enshna  which  he  was 
commissioned  to  preach.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  by  study  and  medi- 
tation Chaitanya  had  discovered 
those  principles  which  first  made 
the  doctrine  of  Krishna's  divinity  a 
powerfiLl  creed,  but  which,  having 
served  its  turn,  had  in  time  been 
corropted  and  dlisplaced  by  the  tra- 
ditionsofiheBndunins.  He  taught 
that  Krishna  was  the  soul  of  the 
nniyerBe^ifae  being  in  whom  nature 
existed,  and  by  wnom  its  functions 
were  performed;  but  he  taught 
likewise  that  caste  was  removed 
bj  unity  of  faith  in  the  god,  that 
all  might  obtain  salvation  by  a 
simple  exercise  of  faith,  and  that 
the  penances,  formulas,  and  works 
of  merit  insisted  upon  by  the 
Brahmins  could  work  no  deliver- 
ance for  men  unless  accompanied 


by  fikith.  He  held  out  Elrishna  as 
the  great  saviour  from  sin,  and 
from  its  natural  consequences.  The 
following  prayer,  translated  in 
Baneijea's  Hindoo  Philosophfy  will 
show  how  a  follower  of  Chai- 
tanya seeks  spiritual  relief  in  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Krishna: — 
'Obeisance,  Obeisance,  to  Krishna, 
even  Gk)binda,  the  benefactor  of  the 
world.  I  am  sin,  my  works  are  sin, 
my  spirit  is  sin,  my  origin  is  sin. 
Save  me,  O  thou  lotus-eyed  Hari, 
who  art  the  lord  of  all  sacrifices. 
None  such  a  sinner  as  myself,  none 
such  destroyer  of  sin  as  thyself; 
taking  this,  O  GK>d,  into  considera- 
tion, do  what  is  proper.'  Faith  and 
a  seeking  after  spiritual  communion 
with  the  divinity  were  now  the 
modes  by  which  men  might  purify 
their  sinful  natures,  work  out  their 
spiritual  deliverance  from  the  evils 
of  transmigration,  and  reign  for 
ever  with  the  Eternal,  amid  the  in- 
conceivable glories  of  his  heaven, 
Vofikcmtha.  We  can  easily  imagine 
how  attractive  such  a  creed  must 
have  proved  when  contrasted  with 
the  formal,  unsympathetic,  and  un- 
natural systems  to  which  Brahmin- 
ism  gives  the  preference ;  and  at  the 
present  day  the  Yaishnavas,  or  fol- 
lowers of  Chaitanya^  form  a  sect  be- 
tween eight  and  nine  millions  strong. 
The  history  of  Chaitanya  affords 
an  excellent  illustration  of  the  quick 
development  of  a  Hindoo  divinity. 
In  little  more  than  a  hundred  years 
after  Chaitanya^  in  his  madness, 
flung  himself  into  the  sea  near  the 
temple  of  Jagannath,  his  divinity, 
as  an  avaiara  of  Krishna,  was  com- 
pletely established ;  portents  which 
attended  his  birth  were  recorded ; 
miracles  were  circumstantially  at- 
tested which  he  wrought  while  aJive ; 
and  his  rising  again  from  the  dead 
at  the  sound  of  Krishna's  name  was 
adopted  as  a  fundamental  part  of 
the  Yaishnava  belief. 

The  point  to  be  noticed  in  this 
paper  is  that  Chaitanya  made  a 
pilgrimage  to  Jagannath,  and  that 


Jagcmnath  and  his  Worship. 


the  greater  pf  t  of  his  religionii  life 
-was  spent  in  the  vicinity  of  that 
shrine.  His  testimony,  if  it  were 
necessary,  wonld  go  far  to  show 
that  Jagannadi  has  no  divinity  but 
what  he  derives  £rom  Krishna,  and 
all  his  teaching  and  ]^ractice  showed 
that  he  regarded  the  two  as  identi- 
cal. The  ritual  at  Puri  would  be' 
qnite  in  accordance  with  Ghait&nya's 
taste,  for  within  the  temple  caste 
fonnd  no  place,  and  the  lowest 
Sndra  oonld  demand  the  sacred 
food  from  the  hands  of  the  priest 
as  well  as  the  highest  Brahmin. 
It  is  only  at  a  late  period  that  the 
lower  castes  have  b^en  refused  this 
communion,  and  it  is  a  sign  that 
the  Erishnaio  faith  is  relaxing  its 
hold.  As  in  many  other  Hindoo 
ceremonies,  the  baro  ritual  had  out- 
lived the  feelings  which  at  first 
gave  it  a  shape. 

As  one  of  the  great  buttresses  of 
modem  Hinduism,  Jagannath  has 
been  much  exposed  to  the  attacks  of 
our  Christian  missionaries.  At  first 
they  took  their  stand  upon  the 
prevalence  of  suicide;  when  this 
became  untenable  they  alleged  that 
the  worship  was  obscene  and  calcu- 
lated to  debauch  native  morality. 
Oiie  Baptist  missionary,  a  few 
months  ago,  went  the  length  of 
hinting,  upon  a  shadow  of  native 
authority,  that  the  rites  of  Exishna 
had  not  lof):  one  chaste  woman  in 
the  whole  of  Muttra,  a  district 
which  in  the  latest  official  census  is 
set  down  as  having  a  population  of 
241,252  women  to  270,518  men. 
^uck  disgraceful  assertions  will 
serve  to  suggest  one  among  other 
reasons  why  Christianity  does  not 
make  that  progress  in  India  which 
we  all  desire,  u  only  upon  grounds 
of  civilisation.  The  fiust  is  that  no 
immoralities  connected  with  the 
worship  of  Jagannath  are  practised . 
but  such  as  are  common  to  all 
mixed  multitudes  of  both  sexes, 
whether  Europesn  or  Asiatic.  Such 
charges  are  d  priori  deductions  from 
the  history  of  Krishna's  amour^, 

which,  as  tradition  has  handed 
them  down  to  us,  are  filthy  enongh. 
But  the  Hindoo  Shastras  are  as  far 
from  allowing  men  to  imitalie  the 
license  adopt^  by  the  gods  as  tiie 
Old  Testament  is  firom  holding  up 
tbe  social  characters  of  David  or 
Solomon  as  examples  to  be  followed. 
With  the  exception  of  the  SbaktLs 
in  Eastern  and  the  Maharajahs  in 
Western  India,  we  are  not  aware  of 
any  sect  that  confers  a  religions 
sanction  upon  avowed  vice.  And 
in  endeavouring  to  discover  im- 
moral  tendencies  in  a  system  which 
they  are  seeking  to  supersede,  oar 
missionaries  have  not  displayed 
mtich  of  that  charity  which,  in  the 
word^  of  the  Apostle, '  thinketli  no 

To  do  the  Hindoos  justice,  their 
theologians  have  been  honestlj 
ashamed  of  their  obscene  traditions, 
and  have  done  their  best  to  diav 
distinctions,  which  would  prevent 
their  affecting  human  morality. 
Some  appear  to  have  considered 
that  the  gods,  by  virtue  of  their 
divine  nature,  did  not  suffer  con- 
tamination from  indulging  in 
breaches  of  morality,  or  Uiat  they 
could  do  no  wrong.  It  most  be 
remembered,  too,  that  the  Hindoos 
have  never  had  in  view  the  assinii* 
lation  of  the  human  to  the  divine 
nature  as  the  perfection  of  human- 
iiy.  It  is  thus  that  Sir  William 
Jones  is  able  to  say  of  Krishna  that 
*'  he  was  pure  and  chaste,  in  realitj, 
but  exhibited  every  appearance  of 
libertinism^'  But  a  different  vindi- 
cation is  now  adopted ;  one  which 
nuudfestLy  shows  that  rationalism 
is  at  work  with  the  Hindoo  Shos- 
tras.  The  identity  of  Krishna  the 
avaiara  of  Vishnu  with  Krishm 
the  son  of  Devaki,  the  Yadavan 
cowherd,  is  now  emphatically  de- 
nied. The  Shastras  will  undoubt- 
edly fuinish  proofs  of  this  view,  ss, 
wi&  proper  manipulation,  they  m&y 
be  made  to  prove  anything.  But 
in  «etual  JbeUef,  in  the  practice  of 
their  worship,  the  masses  of  India 


Jagawnaih  aaid  Ms  Worship, 


recognise  only  one  KriBbna)  at  once 
the  chief  of  sinners  and  the  de- 
liTcrer  from  od.    When  we  find 
mentbn  of  two  Kiishnas,  at  periods 
widely  remote  in  Hindoo  legendary 
Mstory,  and  each  possessing  a  dif- 
&reat  penonaliiy,  we  mnst  remem- 
ber how  tbe  apotheosis  of  the  Yada- 
vsn  wu  effected.     In  interpolat- 
ing E^iishna's  name  into  the  great 
Vedic  poems  the  priests  were  free 
to  clothe  him  with  all  their  concep- 
tions of  dimity ;  in  dealing  with 
his  actml  history  their  imaginations 
were  limited  by  extant  traditions. 
Thus  the  two  &rishnas  are  Krishna. 
the  ideal  sod   and    Krishna    the 
actual,  deified  hero,   but  there  is 
onlyoneindividoality  between  them. 
Upon  snch  a  question  the  carrent 
belief  is  a  more  trostworthy  guide 
than  the  reiSned  opinions  of  the 
pundits;  and  the  first  band  of  pil- 
grims yon  meet  upon  the  high  road 
going  towards  Jagannath  will  tell 
jon  that  the  Krishna  whom  they 
worship  is  the  SIrishna  who  fought 
za  the  Saitja  Ynga  in  the  rank& 
of  the  PandaTas  as  well  as  the 
Krishna  who  toyed  with  Radha  in 
the  groves  of  Bindraban,  in  the 
Dwapara  Yuga,  some  4,000  or  5,000 
jeacs  after.    But  chronology  im- 
poses no  fetters  upon  Hindoo  cre- 

Bat  thoDgh  Jagannath's  festivals 
continue  to  be  celebrated,  his  wor- 
ship 18  &8t  losing  its  hold  upon 
the  minds  of  the  people.  The 
secret  of  its  old  popularity,  the 
democni^  and  levwing  tendencies 
of  ita  litna],  is  forgotten ;  and  the 
pOgrims  who  flock  to  the  temple  at 
Pari  aie  impelled  by  the  native 

predilection  for  iamasTia  or  sight-* 
seeing,  or  by  a  restless  desire  for 
religious  excitement,  rather  than  by 
any  matured  t&oughts  of  devotion. 
But  the  car  festival  has  taken  a 
secure   hold    upon    native    senti- 
ment,  a  hold    too    deep  and  too. 
delicate    to    be  shaken    by  argu- 
ment.   You  may  abuse  Vishnu,  and 
Krishna,   and    Jagannath    by  the 
hour  to  an  intelligent  Hindoo  with- 
out   raffling    his  equanimity,  but 
tell  him  that  the  annual  festival  is 
on  obscene  and  disgusting  spectacle 
which  ought  to  be  suppressed  by  a 
civilised  government,  and  his  re- 
sentment is  at  once  kindled.     We 
believe  that  such  festivals  as  the 
Batha  Jatra  or  oar  procession   of 
Jagannath  and  the  Doorga  Puja, 
the  great  &.mily  reunion   of   the 
Hindoos,  are  likely  to  outlive  all 
the    religious    feelings    in    which 
they  have  originated,  and  that  these 
feeUngs  would  soon  die  a  natural 
death  but  for  the  attacks  to  which 
the  festivals  are  constantly  exposed. 
It  is  only  the  poorest  and  most 
ignorant  classes  that  go  to  Jagan- 
nath in  the  hope  of  obtaining  sal- 
vation ;  and  the  educational  projects 
which  Government  is  carrying  into 
execntion  must  soon  stamp  out  such 
superstition.     But  whatever  form 
the    ^ture    religion   of    India   is 
to   assume,    the   remembrance    of 
Krishna,  whose  worship  first  gave 
spiritual  freedom    to  the   masses, 
and    through    many    centuries    of 
dark    superstition    lightened    the 
load    which    Brahndnism    forced 
upon  men's    shoulders,  will  long 
haunt  the  minds  of  the  Hindoos. 

A.  A. 


0  2 




FROM  hero-worship  to  biography 
— ^from   snch  fictions  as  the 
author  of  the  Chronicles  of  Oarling' 
ford  can  produce  to  such  portraits 
as  she  can  paint — ^there  is  only  one 
step.  Accordingly,  a  new  biography 
from  her  hand  is  welcome,  and  we 
can  believe  that  this  memoir  of  M. 
de  Montalembert  has  been  to  Mrs. 
Oliphant  a  thoroughly  sympathetic 
piece  of  work.     More  finished  than 
the  Life  of  8t  Francis,  it  bears  also 
fewer    marks    of  haste,  but    she 
must  forgive    us   for    thinking  it 
inferior  in   execution    and   move- 
ment   to    her    excellent    Life    of 
Edward    Irving,      The    difference 
between  the  subjects  made  this  pro- 
bable; the  difference  between  the 
creeds  and  races  perhaps  made  it 
unavoidable.    For  Mrs.  Oliphant  is 
of  one  kindred  and  tongue  with  the 
orator  who  so  passionately  tried  to 
throw  over  the  Kirk  of  Scotland, 
'  the  most  severe  and  uncompromis- 
ing of  Christian  churches,'  a  light 
that  never  was  on  sea  or  shore.    She 
could  learn  from  kinsfolk  and  ac- 
quaintance   many    details    of  the 
Scottish  drama  which  was  to  as- 
sume at  last  all  the  proportions  of 
a    tragedy,    but,  great  as  is  her 
power  of  sympathy,  Mrs.  Oliphant 
could  hardly  denationalise  herself 
enough  to  measure  correctly  the 
influences  that  surrounded  M.  de 
Montalembert.     We  have  here  a 
Frenchman  who,  with  a  few  ardent 
Catholics,  is  to  attempt  a  Catholic 
revival  between  the  pauses  of  two 
French  revolutions;  and  the  subject, 
perhaps  from  its  very  strangeness 
and  novelty,  has  attracted  her.    The 
memoir  is  carefully  elaborated,  and 
yet  it  lacks  completeness,  while  Mrs. 
Oliphant  is  too  often  betrayed  into 
indulgence   for  her    hero's    senti- 
mental pedantries,  perhaps  because 

she  has  tried  to  write  a ^. 

of  which  French  Catholics  in  general 
and  the  Montalembert  &mily  in 
particular  should  have  no  reason  to 

The  book  opens  with  an  acconnt 
of  Charles  de  Montalembert's  child- 
hood, which  was  almost  entirely 
spent  in  the  society  of  his  grand- 
&ther.  the  Indian  merchant  and 
natunOist,  Mr.  James  Forbes.  This 
pair  of  friends,  an  old  man  and  a 
young  child,  when  living  in  the 
library  at  Stanmore,  make  a  picture 
pleasant  to  the  mind  and  to  the  eye, 
and  there  the  little  Charles  grew 
in  knowledge  and  reverence  and 
docility,  and  in  that  ready,  charm- 
ing, spontaneous  docility  of  the 
h»Btrt,  which  was  at  once  the  bless- 
ing and  the  weakness  of  his  life. 
THien  what  Mrs.  Oliphant  tenm 
'  the  soft  tranquillity  of  those  narrow 
childish  skies'  was  exchanged,  after 
Mr.  Forbes'  death,  for  a  colder  and 
rougher  atmosphere,  the  boy  had 
been  already  in  great  measnn 
formed.  When  college  succeeded 
to  school,  early  habits  gave  pkoeto 
early  plans,  for  already  we  hear 
this  very  young  reaaoner  detennine 
to  write  a  great  work  on  the  philo- 
sophy of  Christianily,  and  then, 
again,  these  early  plans  get  mixed 
up  with  early  friendships,  with  Rio, 
who  was  to  be  the  associate  of  his 
future  labours,  and  with  the  Abbe 
Studach,  who  first  opened  to  Mont- 
alembert that  portion  of  the  world 
of  German  speculative  thought  to 
which  ScheUing  had  given  a  Catholic 

He  travelled  also,  until  the  year 
1830,  that  which  followed  the  death 
of  his  sister  £lise,  saw  him  esta- 
blished in  Paris,  a  Paris  just  enter- 
ing on  a  new  year  of  disquiet. 

The  first  fVench  Bevolution,  so 

1  Memoir  of  Count  de  Montalembert    By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 
Son,  1872.    Edinhuigh  and  London. 

William  Blackwood   ud 


Charles  de  Montalembert, 


far  from  oorrectiiig  kings  orezbanst- 
ing  the  explosive  forces  of  France, 
lu^  left  the  country  watchftd  and 
irritable;  and  if  some  looked  on 
Uiat  condition  with  hope,  others 
again  could  only  regard  it  with 
dread  or  with  disgust.  And  France 
vas  not  religious.  She  had  a 
church,  the  work  of  Napoleon  and 
of  a  Concordat ;  bat,  in  the  new 
heayens  and  new  earth  which  had, 
80  to  speak,  appeared  after  the  sub- 
sidenoe  of  the  great  deluge,  the 
religions  element  was  wanting,  and 
Catholfciam  seemed,  to  use  Mont- 
alembert's  own  expression,  to  be  a 
corpse,  with  which  nothing  re- 
mained to  be  done  but  charitably  to 
tmiT  it.  The  pious  and  liberal  ^fts 
of  more  than  forty  generations  had 
perished  with  them;  the  40,000 
tlefs  and  arriere-fiefs  once  held  by 
the  Galilean  Church,  when  taken 
from  her  grasp,  had  accrued  to  a 
horny-handed  peasantry ;  and,  after 
a  thousand  years  of  life,  the  reli- 
gions orders  had  ceased  to  exist. 

In  other  countries  Catholicism 
had  also  much  to  depress  her,  and 
much  to  deplore,  but  France  had 
been  the  scene  of  her  greatest  dis- 
asters ;  and  so  France  ought  to  be, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  young  Mont- 
alembert andof  his  friends,  the  scene 
of  her  most  striking  revival.  And 
their  wish  became  father  to  the 
event.  What  a  Stolberg,  a  Bahnes, 
a  Thnn,  or  a  Galitzine  did  in  other 
lands  was  outdone  in  France,  until 
the  Church  there  grew  to  count 
among  her  champions  all  that  the 
conntry  had  noblest,  most  culti- 
vated, and  best. 

Their  enthusiasm  was  contagious. 
Yet  the  saddest  part  of  their  history 
18  that  theirs  was  nothing  but  an 
enthusiasm:  that  whatever  force  the 
inoTement  possessed  expended  itself 
in  emotional  discussions,  emotional 
articles,  and  emotional  measures; 
that  it  seemed  to  lend  ite  coun- 
tenance to  a  clergy  guilty  of  teach- 
ing the  miracle  of  Ia  Salette; 
and  that,  after  one  splendid  ana- 

chronism, it  collapsed.  Not,  how- 
ever, witiiout  raising  the  tone  of 
a  portion  of  the  society  that  sur- 
rounded them,  for  that  was  true 
which  Mdme.  Swetchine  said  in 
writing  of  Paris:  'It  is  true  that 
nowhere  is  Qod  more  sinned  against 
than  He  is  here,  but  that  nowhere  is 
He  also  more  loved.'  How  Mont- 
alembert and  his  friends  loved,  and 
how  their  love,  when  diverted  from 
its  legitimate  objects,  Ood  and  the 
country,  and  deprived  of  its  legiti- 
mate expression,  was  maimed  and 
crippled  by  its  subservience  to 
Rome,  it  will  be  the  business  of  this 
paper  to  show. 

The  most  prominent  of  this  band 
of  friends  was  M.  La  Mennais,  so 
unprophetically  christened  F61icit6. 
A  Catholic,  a  Boyalist,  and  above 
all  a  Breton,  he  was  the  very  man 
to  head  a  religious  movement.  Al- 
ready in  middle  life,  his  bold  pages 
had  for  some  years  stirred  the 
minds  of  the  thinking  classes  in 
France.  Most  likely  from  his 
temper  to  be  a  keen  partisan,  he 
was  as  likely  to  become  a  jour- 
nalist as  a  reformer.  Accordingly 
when  Montalembert  came  a4:c(mru 
du  fond  de  VIrlandSf  as  he  says, 
to  join  a  society  whose  watch- 
words were  '  God  and  Liberty,'  his 
first  visit  was  to  La  Mennais.  On 
every  point  they  can  hardly  have 
agreed,  since  La  Mennais  was  a 
^publican,  with  a  brain  that,  like 
that  of  Bnchez,  teemed  with  social 
extravagances.  As  'helpers  of 
humanity,'  however,  he  and  his 
young  disciple  soon  stood  pledged 
to  one  another ;  the  Avenir  journal 
was  started,  and  Montalembert, 
who  had  felt  his  life  objectless  and 
tasteless,  found  it  transfigured  when 
following  in  the  channel  of  Catholic 

And  on  the  horizon,  which  he  felt 
to  be  always  widening,  a  new  star 
was  yet  to  rise. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  he  first 
met  Henri  Lacordaire,and  he  saw  in 
him  a  priest  in  very  deed,  a  teacher 


Charles  de  MontcUemberL 


elect  to  suffering, '  one  predestined 
to.  genios  and  to  glory.'  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  a  strdmg  friendship 
was  made  betw^een  them,  though  at 
first  the  two  men  seem  to  have  ex- 
changed their  rolea  since  the  Aventr 
waa  suspended  for  two  papers, 
which  were  the  work  of  Lacordeiire, 
while  Montalembert*s  mind  was  oc- 
cupied in  deciding  whether  he  would 
or  ^ould  not  beeome  a  priest.  He 
finally  decided  against  it,  and  then 
expended  his  spare  energies  in  open- 
ing a  school  which  was  speedily 
closed  by  the  police,  and  in  writing 
warnings  in  the  Avenvr — ^warnings 
to  France  which  read  like  the 
knell  of  a  society  and  of  a  country. 
By  these  remarks  the  Avenir  was 
brought  into  collision  with  the  au- 
thorities and  suspended.  This,  as 
we  know,  was  not  to  be  Montalem- 
bert's  last  experience  of  this  sort  of 
political  situation,  and  just  now, 
even  though  it  startled  him,  it  did 
not  depress  him.  He  and  his 
colleagues  were  young,  and,  as  La- 
cordaire  wrote,  'However  cruel 
time  may  be,  it  can  take  nothing 
from  the  happiness  of  the  year  that 
is  just  gone.'  To  understand  the  ex- 
pression one  must  have  been  young 
oneself,  or  have  been  bom  when  reli- 
gion was  hardly  named  in  France. 
Then  to  have  lived  to  see  the 
revival  of  £uth,  and  the  resus- 
citation of  such  charitable  orders  as 
that  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  might 
well  have  caused  a  joy  which  the 
police  of  Louis  Philippe  could  not 
takeaway.  .  .  ' Those  men,' Lacor. 
daire  adds,  *  who  have  not  lived  in 
both  periods,  can  never  represent 
to  themselves  what  was  the  passage 
fronnthe  one  to  the  other.  As  for  us, 
we,  who  have  been  of  both  epochs, 
who  have  seen  the  shame  and  the 
honour,  our  eyes  at  the  recollection 
fill  with  unsummoned  tears,  as  we 
give  thanks  to  Him  who  is  unspeak" 
able  in  His  gifts.' 

More  coadjutors  now  added  them- 
selvestothe  young  reformers.  Albert 
de    la    Farronays,    young,    gifted. 

and  supersensitive,  wafl  there ;  and 
thither  came  the  Pere  Gterbet,  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Perpignan,  that 
'mystic  angel'  who  was  such  a  fit 
director  for  Alexandrine  de  la  Fer- 
ronays,  and  upon  whose  wonderful 
Oredo  de  la  Douleur  many  a  sobbing 
face  has  surely  been  pressed ;  there 
also  Bio  reappeared,  full  of  impulses 
towards  mediedval  art,  and  of  love 
for  that  Italy  to  which,  in  Novem- 
ber 1831,  when  the  Avenir  had 
fairly  made  shipwreck,  the  little 
colony  transferred  themselves. 

With  no  small  emotion  they  found 
themselves  actually  in  Rome,  and 
under  the  shadow  of  St.  Peter's 
chair.  They  burned  with  high 
hopes  that  here  at  least  they  would 
be  understood,  and  thus  their  aspira- 
tions for  the  welfare  of  Catholic 
Christendom  would  deserve  and 
receive  the  blessing  of  its  august 
head.  But  the  notes  that  had  been 
too  loud  for  the  cabinet  of  lionis 
Philippe  sounded  just  as  ill-omened 
in  the  ears  of  the  Pope.  The  policy 
of  the  Papacy  with  regard  to  merit 
has  often — nay,  generally — been 
that  of  the  Tarquins  with  regard  to 
poppies,  and  Liberty  and  Infallibi- 
lity can  never  kiss  each  other.  Thus 
the  *  Society  for  the  Defence  of  Beh- 
gious  Liberty '  met  with  no  sympa- 
thy. An  ^OGcneil  irhs-reserve*  was 
all  that  was  accorded  to  its  leaders, 
and  before  many  weeks  they  were 
asked  to  consent  to  the  withdrawal 
of  all  their  plans,  and  to  see  the 
downfall  of  all  their  hopes. 

The  leaders  were  differently  af- 
fected by  the  Papal  censure. 

La  Mennais,  with  strong  passions 
and  self-love,  dung  to  his  plan  as 
his  plan,  and  at  times  fancied  that 
he  could  coax,  or  lead,  or  even  force 
the  Pope  to  his  way  of  thinking. 
He  failed,  as  everyone  knew  he 
must,  and  as  he  neither  could  nor 
would  brook  the  disappointment, 
he  wandered  away.  One  more  un- 
grateful son  of  the  Church  the  Ultra- 
montanes  declared  him  to  be,  while 
their  opponents  pointed  to  huh  as 


OhcaHes  de  MontalemhefiU 


000  more  martyr  to  liberty^  a  faXL 
JB%  liar  whose  brightness  attracted 
some  disciples;  »  living  protest  to 
tiie  incompatibility  of  Bomi^  tenets 
and  pretoMaons  •  with  freedom   of 
thought  or  action,  oar  with  the  new 
necessities    of    a    new    age.      La 
Meimais  the  rebel,  with  his  high 
temper  and  marked  indiyidnality, 
started  with  a  detennined,  absolute 
sense  thst  he  was  right,  and  in  the 
right.     Lacordaire  and  Montalem« 
bertliad  father  anabsolnte  anddeter- 
mined  mil  to  serv'e  God  and  sooieiy, 
and  ^  tilt  means  and  the  machinerj 
tfaai  thej  had  first  adopted  were  dis* 
approTed  of  by  the  head   of   the 
Chmeh,  they  were  able  to  submit. 
They  were  vnlling  also  to  try  again^ 
at  another  time  and  in  another  way, 
Iflcordaire  left  Rome,  however,  and 
the  nest  time  that  he  arrived  for- 
mally to  ask  for  the  Pontifical  bles- 
sing vas  in  1844,  when  he  planned 
that  revival  of  the  Dominican  bro- 
thefbood  which  Kved  and  died  at  La 
Qnercia  and  at  Nancy.    Montalem- 
l^ri  also  left  Rome.     He  travelled, 
and  falling  in  love  with  the  memory 
of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungaiy,  he 
followed  her  footsteps  from  fiMyt  to 
legend,  firom  castle  to  city,  threw 
t<i^therthe  materials  for  his  first 
work,  a  life  of  that  royal  saint, 
went  to  Pisa  and  read  extracts  from 
his  notes  to  Albert  and  Alexandrine 
^  la  Eerronays,  and  rdid  not  return 
to  Paris  till  the  year  1835,  when  he 
came  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Chamber 
of  Peers.    He  .was  twenty-fivo  years 
of  age. 

Once  more  then  he  and  Lacordaire 
oonld  hold  counsel  together,  and 
Ozanam  and  Rio  and  Mdme.  Swet- 
chine  were  with  them  to  witness 
jfoiitalembert*s  parliamentary  (2eM, 
^  to  hear  those  conferences  of  the 
priest  which  made  the  pulpit  of 
Notre  Dame  the  centre  of  the  reU- 
giooa  life  of  Paris.  Again,  as  before, 
^se  men  reasoned  with  the  Paris* 
ttM  of  God,  of  liberty,  of  courage, 
of  justice,  and  of  judgment  to  come. 

less  society  listened  to  them  with 
wonder,  or  turned  a  deaf  ear,jSo  that 
the  ^ends  mightagain  havo  asked, 
as  they  had  done  before,  ^  Where 
is  the  tie  that  has  not>  been  broken  ? 
Where  is  the  cause  that  has  not 
been  distrusted  ?-  Where  is  the^prin* 
ciple  that  reigns  as  master  over  one 
single  soul  ?    An  indescribable  ver- 
tigo has  seized  on  men:   no  one 
knows  where  he  is  going ;  no  one 
wishes  to  go  where  his  fate  urges 
him.   They  lie  ;  they  heap  oath  upon 
oath;  yet  all  their  vain  words,  in 
which  God  is  not  so  much  as  once 
named,  are  quickly  effaced  from  the 
recollection  of  men.  .  .  .  They  be- 
lieve with  a  blind  &ith  in  the  im« 
mortal  power  of  a  .family,  in  the 
miraculous  destiny  of  a  child,   in 
the  tercLble  punishment    of   their 
enemies;  but  tell  them  there  is  a 
Ood  in  the  midst  of  these  crumbling 
theories,  of  this  volcanic  agitation, 
of  the  peoples,  and  they  wiU  shake 
off  the  dust  from  their  feet  against 

The    bishops  of   Stance  looked 
rather  coldly  on  this  pair  of  plain- 
spoken  friezidsi     '  Le  hruit^*  said  one 
prelate,  ^ne  fcdt  jarniais  du  btetiy  ei 
le  hi&n  ne  fait  jamais  du  bruit ;'  and 
though /in  France  a  mot  like  this 
is  damaging  indeed,  Montalembert 
found  himself,,  in  1844,  obliged  te 
risk  some  more  noise  for  the  cause 
of  education,  which  he  had  so  long 
advocated,   and  for  that  constitu- 
tional policy  which  has  been  so  often 
attempted  >  in  France.     He  spoke 
well  and  worked  well,  and  if  we 
were  abruptly  asked  to  say  what, 
with  all    his  enthusiasm    and  his 
good  intentions^  Charles  de  Mont- 
alembert really  did  for  his  country, 
we  should  reply,  that^  in  the  &ce 
of  a  Government  whose  educational 
policy  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  monopoly,  he  tried  to  ob- 
tain for  all  ranks  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, of  which  the  basis  was  a  faith 
in  Christianity.;  and  that  again,  be- 
fore the  elections  of  1846,  he  roused 
the/^eleGtorSy^uEid  begged  them  U>^ 



Charles  de  MontaJemhert, 


realise  the  reBponaible  power  which 
was  lodged  in  their  hands. 

In  consequence  of  his  exertions 
one  hundred  and  thirty  deputies 
came  np  to  that  parliament  pledged 
to  the  cause  of  religious  and  edu- 
cational liberty;  a  liberty  subject 
only  to  constitutional  restrictions. 
When  we  remember  that  the  clouds 
were  already  gathering  for  the 
storm  of  1848,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
ask  what  became  of  the  hundred  and 
thirty  members,  of  their  influence 
and  their  votes.  Tn  a  l^Vench  political 
convulsion  it  is  not  the  men  of  order 
or  education  who  are  heard ;  it  is  the 
men  of  extremes,  extremes  of  abso- 
lutism and  extremes  of  democratic 
violence  which,  by  changing  the  na- 
ture but  not  the  degree  of  tyranny, 
smother  at  last  the  principles  of 

When  Louis  Philippe  was  sent 
into  exile  by  the  most  *  purposeless 
and  severely  punished  of  revolu- 
tions,' the  Chamber  of  Peers  was 
doomed.  M.  de  Montalembert  might 
then  have  felt  for  a  moment  as  if 
his  career  was  closed,  but  he  was 
returned  ere  long  as  deputy  for  the 
Department  of  Doubs,  and  allowed 
to  raise  his  voice  again  for  the  causes 
he  had  at  heart.  Lord  Normanby 
sajs  of  his  first  appearance  in  the 
Assembly,  *  Upon  my  first  visit  to 
the  Assembly  this  morning  (June 
23),  even  in  the  midst  of  the  agi- 
tation caused  by  the  struggle  already 
begun,  I  heard  that  an  intense  sen- 
sation had  been  produced  yesterday 
by  the  first  great  speech  of  M.  de 
Montalembert,  in  his  new  character 
of  representant  du  peuple^  and  upon 
the  subject  of  the  proposed  decree 
authorising  the  Government  to  take 
possession  of  the  railroads.  He 
made  this  an  occasion  for  stating 
his  opinion  boldly,  as  he  was  sure 
to  do  upon  the  general  state  of  the 

The  successful  orator  himself  was 
in  the  habit  of  saying  that  the  year 
1849  was  the  most  brilliant  one  of 
his  life.    It  must  have  been  one  of 

many   hopes    and    fears.      France 
seemed  to  pause  before  confirming 
or  choosing  a  form  of  government^  | 
and  the  many,  the  very  many,  men 
of  merit  and  ability  who  at  that  time^ 
like  Montalembert,   wished    for  a 
<  manly  and  regulated  liberty,'  did  at 
moments  believe  themselves  to  be 
approaching  the  fulfilment  of  their 
hopes.     Setting  aside  the  party  of 
brUliant  and  eager  Republicans,  it 
did  seem  as  if  France  possessed  in 
a  Berryer,    a    De    Tocqneville,   a 
Guizot,  a  B^musat,  a  Faueher,  a 
Duvergier  de  Hauranne,  a  Falloux, 
a  Montalembert,  a  Kergolay,  a  De 
Beaumont,  and  a  De   BrogHe  the 
ten  righteous  men  who  might  haye 
saved  a  city  and  nation,  conld  the 
Grovemment  but  be  confided  to  such 
hands.     But  property  was  menaced 
by    the  Communistic  tone  of  the 
great    towns,    and    the    party,  so 
called,  of  order,  was,  not  unnatarallj, 
bent  on  establishing  a  '  strong  go* 
vernment,*  one  which  would  secure 
property  and  peace.   And  for  the  ten 
righteous  men  we  have  named,  the 
President,     Louis    Napoleon,    had 
among  his  personal   friends   quite 
as  many  men  of  precisely  opposite 
description.      They   had    not   been 
so  much  as  named  for  office  in  his 
first  cabinet,  but  not  the  less  had 
they    bided     their     time.       By   a 
stroke   of  unexampled  daring  and 
rascality  they  possessed  themadves, 
on  one  memorable  morning  in  De- 
cember,   of  the    chief   power  and 
places  in  the   State,  and  on  that 
day    the   legitimate    career   of  all 
honest  and  constitutional  statesmen 
in    France    was    ended.       M.    de 
Montalembert's  fate  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  general  rule.     Not  that 
he    altogether    ceased    to    protest. 
The  incident  in  his  life  with  w^hich 
the  English  public  is  most  familiar, 
is  his  condemnation  in    November 
1858   for  articles  published  in  the 
Correspondantf  said  to  contain  'at- 
tacks on  universal  suffirage ;  on  the 
rights  of  the  Emperor ;  on  the  re- 
spect due  to  the  laws,  and  to  the 


Charles  de  MontcdemberL 


Gorernment  of  the  Emperor,'  -while  * 
ihey  were  also  of  a  nature  to  dis- 
turb the  public  peace.     We  extract 
a  portion  of  Mrs.  Oliphant's  account 
of  the  trial  and   its  consequences : 

The  penalties  attAcfaed  to  these  aficusa* 
lions  were  serious ;  not  only  were  the 
culprits  liable  to  sentences  of  imprison- 
nent,  Tarying  from  three  months  to  five 
years,  and  to  fines  varying  from  500  to 
6,000  ftancS)  but  they  were  enbject  to  a 
lasting  sorreillAnce,  and  might  be  either 
expelled  from  French  territory,  or  be  shut 
up  in  some  French  or  Algerian  town. 
The  trial  was  therefore  no  child's  play  to 
M«  de  MoDtalembert.  The  court  was 
t^rovded  with  the  best  and  highest  audience 
that  Puis  could  collect  To  hear  the  first 
of  French  lawyers  plead,  and  one  of  the 
mofeit  illustrious  of  French  orators  submit 
to  an  examination,  was  enough  to  attract  a 
crowd.  .  .  .  M.  de  Montalembert  was  ex- 
amined as  to  the  meaning  of  the  passages 
iillt^  as  libellous — whether  he  did  not 
iD«an  to  describe  the  Imperial  Gorernment 
by  the  words  •  the  chroniclers  of  anti- 
chambers,  the  atmosphere  charged  with 
serrile  and  corrupt  miasmas,'  and  whether 
he  did  not  imply,  by  saying  that  he  went 
to  breathe  an  air  more  pure,  to  take  a 
bath  of  life  in  free  England,  an  attack  on 
the  institations  of  his  country.  ...  No  one 
who  has  ever  seen  M.  de  Montalembert  can 
hare  any  difficulty  in  representing  to  him- 
Hflf  the  curiously  significant  position  in 
which  the  foolish  malice  of  his  prosecutors 
tb\is  placed  him.  With  his  imperturbable 
composore,  that  'aristocratic  calm'  which 
his  critics  had  so  often  remarked,  he  stood 
Wore  all  Paris,  with  the  curl  of  sarcasm 
a)joat  his  lips,  enjoying,  there  can  be  no 
doobt,  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  this 
\mlooked-for  chance  of  adding  a  double 

?niit  to  erery  arrow  he  had  launched.  .  .  . 
he  calm  gravity  with  which  he  acknow- 
led^B  each  damning  implication  as  an 
historical  fiut  not  to  be  denied,  the  suave 
and  eeiioas  composure  of  his  aspect,  the 
irmistible  and  undeniable  force  of  that 
poliahedwiteration,  the  ironical  disavowal 
of  sjiy  attack  *  in  the  sense  implied  by  tlie 
law,'  all  make  up  the  most  characteristic 
picture  which  could  possibly  be  given  of 
the  man.  .  .  .  When  he  calmly  repeated  his 
tt«t  moderate  and  gentle  explanation^'  I 
hate  merely  stated  a  fact;  avertUsementa 
are  giten ;  France  did  possess  certain  insti- 
taUons which  she  possesses  no  longer'— -it 
» impossible  not  to  add  in  imagination  the 
gl^m  of  the  eye,  the  movement  of  the 
aim  lip,  the  sense  of  power  with  which  this 
"wmingly  innocent  response  was  given. . . . 
■Che  Proeoreur  Imperial   conducted   the 

prosecution,  and  the  distinguished  and 
eloquent  M.  Berryer  made  a  speech  of  two 
hours'  duration  for  the  defence.  As  to  the 
decision,  of  course  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
The  defendants  were  found  guilty  upon  the 
first  three  counts ;  the  fourth  count,  that  of 
having  endeavoured  to  disturb  the  public 
peace  by  exciting  citizens  to  hatred  and 
contempt  of  each  other,  was  dropped.  The 
sentence :  six  months  of  imprisonment  and 
a  fine  of  3,000  francs  for  the  Count  de 
Montalembert ;  one  month's  imprisonment 
and  1,000  ^ncs  of  fine  for  M.  Douniol, 
the  publisher  of  the  Correspondant. 

The  sentence,  however,  was  followed  by 
no  immediate  enforcement  of  the  penalty. 
Montalembert  left  the  court  quietly  on 
foot,  a  group  of  people  momentarily  as- 
sembling in  the  street  to  gaze  at  him.  He 
appealed  at  once,  as  he  had  a  right,  to  the 
superior  court.  Before  the  time  for  the 
appeal  was  completed,  the  Emperor  made 
an  effort  to  reclaim  the  ground  which  had 
been  lost  by  fully  remitting  the  sentence, 
on  the  occasion  of  the  anniversary  of 
December  2.  The  culprit  had,  however, 
no  mind  to  accept  the  grace  thus  awarded 
to  him,  and  on  the  same  day  addressed  the 
following  letter  to  the  Moniieur : 

'  Pakis  :  December  2,  1858. 

'  M.U  RSdactetir^^The  Moniteur  of  this 
morning  contains,  in  its  unofficial  part,  a 
piece  of  news  which  I  learned  only  in 
reading  it  It  is  expressed  as  follows: 
**  His  Majesty  the  Emperor,  on  the  occasion 
of  December  2,  remits  to  M.  le  Comte  de 
Montalembert  the  sentence  pronounced 
against  him."  Condemned  on  November 
24,  I  had  already  appealed  against  the 
sentence.  No  power  in  France,  up  to  the 
present  moment,  has  any  right  to  remit  a 
penalty  not  yet  definitively  pronounced.^  I 
am  one  of  those  who  still  believe  in  justice^ 
and  do  not  accept  mercy.  I  beg  you,  and 
if  necessary  I  require  you,  to  publish  this 
letter  in  your  next  number. 

<  Accept  the  assurance  of  my  consideration. 

*Ch.  de  Montalbhbkrt.' 

The  superior  court  decided  the  appeal  on 
December  21.  It  repeated  the  previous 
condemnation,  but  reduced  the  sentence 
firom  six  to  three  months'  imprisonment. 
The  Emperor,  however,  a  few  days  later 
repeated  his  act  of  grace,  and  remitted  all 
the  penalties  of  Montalembert.  M.  Dou- 
niol had  his  fine  of  1,000  francs  to  pay, 
and  thus  the  whole  business  ended. 

After  this  storm  was  laid  the 
compilation  of  his  great  work,  Les 
Moi/tiea  de  V  Occident^  occupied  the 


•€harle8  de  Montalentbeti, 


mind  of  Monfcalcmbert ;  and  liis 
leisore  was  apt  to  be  spent  in 
jonsnejs  to  countrieB  whose  sites, 
like  those  of  Ireland,  Scotland,  and 
Germany,  were  connected  with  his 
book.  Two  volumes  were  published 
in  i860y  and  the  renxaining  ones 
appeared  in  1866  and  1867. 

This  history,  or  rather  this  beau- 
tiftil  apologia  for  the  monks  of  the 
West,  for  the  evangelists  of  the 
Isles,  for  the  civilisers  of  the  darkest 
comers  of  Christendom,  was  but 
the  literary  context  to  a  most  re- 
markable movement  in  France,  a 
movement  to  which  the  friends  of 
Montalembert's  youth  gave  the  first 

When  Lacordaire  had  been  by 
the  suspension  of  the  Avemr^  and 
the  disapproval  of  the  Pope,  thrown 
back  upon  his  own  resources  and 
reflections,  it  could  not  be  but  that 
that  ardent  heart  and    ingenious 
head  should  find  another  medium 
of  communicating  with  society.  "  To 
give  expression  to  his  love  of  God, 
the  supreme  and  satisfying  passion 
of  his  life,  and  to  warn  a  world  (for 
whose  welfare  he  was  ready  to  hee 
any  aaorifice),  that  by  losing  faith  in» 
its  God  it  would  die  to  youth,  to 
honour,  and  to  freedom,  were  neces- 
sities to  him.     From  the  pulpit  of 
Notre  Dame  he  declared  them,  and 
of  the  many  who  came  there  to 
wonder,  some  certainly  remained  to 
pray.    Yet  he  was  not   satisfied. 
What  was  one  voice  in  this  Babel  of 
folly  and  crime  P  and  so  the  priest 
who  had  been  baffled  as  a  reformer 
and  a  journalist  grew  to  think  that 
the  presence  of  a  preaching  order  in 
Fiunce   would  send  a  quickening, 
spirit  through    society.     At  that 
epoch  the  Jesuits  were  the  only 
rehgious    order    residing    in    the 
country.     What  if  the  rule  of  St. 
Dominic  could   be    revived,    wit^ 
its  third  estate  of   teachers?    A 
place  was  vacant  in  the  religious 
machinery  of  the  Church  in  France, 
and  the  Dominican  order  would  fill  it } 
then  srhy  not  a,dopt  a  mlo  thatjhad. 

once  shed  such  lustre  P  or  why  pre- 
fer  to  that  rule  some  system  bearing 
the  stamp  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury P 

The  confidante  of  this  scheme 
was  Madame  Swetchine,  and  its 
first  convert  was  Requedat,  in 
whose  company  we  see  Lacordaire 
once  more  taking  his  way  to  Rome. 
This  time  the  Pope  was  finvoor- 
able.  Lacordaire  assumed  in  1844 
the  garb  of  the  order,  the  white  and 
black  robes  of  innocence  and  of 
penitence,  and  he  began  a  Hfe  of 
monastic  solitude  in  the  Dominican 
convent  of  La  Qaercia. 

We  can  not  and  ought  not  here 
to  follow  the  details  of  this  Domi- 
nican revival,  or  of  its  leader's 
oareer,  from  the  first  tears  shed  in 
the  cell  at  La  Quercia^  to  the  hst 
sigh  breathed  in  the  school  of 
Sorreze;  but  the  spirit  that  ani* 
mated  Lacordaire  and  his  friends 
was  the  Hisiory  of  tJb^  Monks  ofik 
West  put  into  action;  set  as  it 
were  to  music,  and  surely  to  no 
ordinary  strain.  Beautiful  as  they 
were,  still  truth  compels  us  to  own 
that  lives  like  those  of  Beqaedat, 
Besson,  and  Picl  were  failures  for 
France ;  for  one  by  one  these  dis- 
ciples of  Lacordaire  withered  into 
early  graves;  Italy  and  Mossoulke^ 
their  ashes,  and  their  spirits  rest. 
They  were  of  those  who,  like  tbe 
Pere  Gratry,  had  early  heard  somo 
unearthly  voice  adjure  them: 
*  Friend,  come  up  higher,'  but,  alas! 
society  has  not  been  bom  again 
through  their  great  devotion,  their 
prayerful  vigils,  or  their  unrepining 

No  trait  of  French  national  cha- 
racter  in  this  century  is  so  painfjil 
as  the  want  of  moral  courage  in 
Frenchmen  to  resist  a  personal  or 
a  popular  impulse,  and  in  this  re* 
vival  of  the  conventual  life  we  can- 
not but  see  another  phase  of  the 
same  fatal  evil. .  Not  a  contemptible 
phase,  but  not  the  leas  a  permcions 
one.  To  »e8cape,fipom  the  jffesent 
iifc]f>mBaftj  laad  to  construct  inimagi^ 


OharUs  d6  Monfalemhert, 


oation  a  new  sitnation  oat  of  new 
but  imaginaiy  elements,  is  not  to 
regenerate  societj,  ^  but  to  make  a 
sentimental  mistake. 

W^t  was  finest  in  these  men 
was  their  earnest  devotion,  their 
readiness  to  saerifioe  the  person 
to  the  cause,  the  present  to  the 
^tore,  the  few  for  the  many,  the 
life  for  the  work.  Montalembert, 
less  heroic  than  the  rest,  praised  St. 
Bernaid,  St.  Benedict,  and  St.  Domi- 
nic, and  he  praised  his  friends ;  but 
while  be  felt  with  them,  he  did  not 
do  as  thejdid.  It  was  only  in  later 
life  that  he  had  to  drink  of  their 

In  his  honse  in  the  Bne  da  Bac, 
and  in  his  chlLteaa  at  Villersexell, 
his  danghter  Catherine  had  grown 
np  beside  him.  She  had  inherited 
his  talent;  she  was  gay,  sweet- 
tempered,  and  accomplished,  and 
her  appearance  in  society  had  real- 
ised every  wish  her  &ther  might 
hare  formed.  Saddenly  she  an- 
nounced to  him  her  desire  to  be- 
come a  nun.  This  daaghter  of  the 
historian  of  the  cloister  said  it, 
meant  it,  and  did  it,  for  her  father 
could  not  well  refate  her  arguments. 
^  Cochin  describes  the  scene  that 
took  pbce  between  them.  '  One 
day  hM  charming  and  beloved  child 
entered  that  library  which  all  his 
friends  knew  so  well,  and  said  to  him, 
"  I  am  fond  of  everything  around  me. 
[  love  pleasure,  wit,  society,  and 
its  amnsem^its ;  I  love  my  family, 
my  stodies,  my  companions,  my 
youth,  my  life,  my  country;  but  I 
love  God  better  than  all,  and  I 
desire  to  give  myself  to  Him."  And 
when  he  said  to  her,  «*  My  child, 
is  there  something  that  grieves 
fon  ?  "  she  went  to  the  book^elves, 
md  sought  one  of  the  volumes  in 
jvhichhe  has  narrated  the  history 
)f  the  monks  of  the  West.  "  It  is 
ron,"  she  answered,  "who  have 
anght  me  that  withered  hearts  and 
reaty  souls  are  not  the  things 
rhich  we  ought  to  offer  to  God.'* 
k>mfi  months  afber  Madeittoiflelle 

de  Montalembert  carried  oat  her 
purpose,  as  her  father  said,  **A 
sa  grande  desolation.**  *  The  gap 
she  left  in  his  life  was  never  filled 
up  ;  and  though-  Mrs.  Oliphant 
says  that  he  grew  to  forget  his 
individual  disappointment  and  pain 
in  seeing  her  useful  and  happy  in 
her  vocation,  no  one  who  saw  him 
could  doubt  but  that  in  giving  her 
np  he  had  given  up  the  light  and 
brightness  of  his  last  years.  They 
were  years  of  physical  suffering, 
though  of  unblunted  sympathies 
and  of  undimmed  faith.  Death 
came  painlessly  and  gently  at  last 
on  March  13,  1870,  to  one  who  wa» 
'cast  in  gentle  mould,'  and  saved 
an  honourable  French  statesman 
from  beholding  the  humiliation  of 
his  beautiful  France  at  the  hands  of 
a  foreign  foe,  and  the  destruction  of 
Paris  at  the  hands  of  the  Commune^ 

Those  whom  the  gods  love  die 
young ;  yet  even  to  have  died  in  the 
spring  of  1870,  was  to  have  been 
spared  much  that  Montalembert  had 
foreseen,  and,  that  in  common  with 
the  whole  constitutional  party,  he 
had  been  too  feeble  to  prevent 

His  youth  had  been  one  of  so 
great  promise,  that  the  question  is 
forced  upon  one.  Why  was  the 
after  life  incommensurate  with  it  P 
Why  did  all  those  graces  of  adoles- 
cence and  enthusiasm  not  ripen  and 
harden  into  a  fuller  stature  of  manly 
greatness  P  He  fell  on  evil  days, 
and  his  mental  fibre  was  delicate  in 
no  common  degree.  A  nature  like 
this  has  one  great  drawback ;  it 
suffers.  Time  is  needed  to  recover 
from  suffering,  and  way  and  g^und 
are  both  lost  during  a  process 
which  time  only  can  accomplish. 
The  wound  heals,  as  wounds  in  all 
sound  minds  and  bodies  do  heal, 
bat  the  man  starts  again  at  a  di8«< 
advantage.  No  one,  for  example, - 
who  16oked  at  Montalembert's  ftoe 
in  late  life  could  mistake  for  a 
moment  that  he  was  a  man  who 
had  been  shaken  by  mental  as  well' 
as  phyHcal  paiigs.    Only  less  iMnfli*- 


Charles  de  Monialenihert» 


tive  than  De  Tocqueville,  his  was 
a  temperament  unfitted  to  succeed. 
Only  the  men  of  blood  and  iron 
really  succeed,  for  they  have  no 
hesitations,  no  regrets,  no  relent- 
ings,  no  doubts,  and  no  despairs. 
But  there  .was  another  and  a 
heavier  cause  for  Montalembert's 
failures.  It  lay  in  what  he  con- 
sidered his  strcngth,  in  his  utter 
subservience  to  Rome.  In  1870, 
and  when  M.  de  Montalembert  was, 
through  'suffering,  rejoicing,  and 
sorrowing,'  slowly  making  his  way 
to  his  rest,  the  agitation  of  the 
Papal  Infallibility  as  a  verite  patente 
and  a  dogma  came  to  a  crisis.  The 
almost  dying  man  wrote  on  Febru- 
ary 28th  a  letter,  published  in  the 
Gazette  de  France,  condemning  the 
eager  servility  with  which  French- 
men were  carrying  out  Ultramon- 
tane principles  in  the  Church.  Yet 
in  the  last  days  of  his  life  the 
following  remarkable  conversation 
took  place.  A  visitor  put  a  direct 
question  to  Montalembert :  '  If  the 
Infallibility  is  proclaimed,  what  will 
you  do  ? '  *  I  will  struggle  against 
it  as  long  as  I  can.'  But  when  the 
question  was  repeated,  'What  should 
I  do  ?'  he  said.  '  We  are  always  told 
that  the  Pope  is  a  father ;  eh  hien ! 
there  are  many  fathers  who  demand 
our  adherence  to  things  very  far 
from  our  inclinations  and  contrary 
to  our  ideas.  In  such  a  case  the  son 
struggles  while  he  can;  he  tries 
hard  to  persuade  his  father,  dis- 
cusses and  talks  the  matter  over 
with  him;  but  when  all  is  done, 
when  he  sees  no  possibility  of  suc- 
ceeding, but  receives  a  distinct  re- 
fusal, he  submits.  I  shall  do  the 
same.'  '  You  will  submit  as  far  as 
form  goes ;  you  will  submit  exter- 
nally. But  how  will  you  reconcile 
that  submission  with  your  ideas  and 
convictions  ? '  *  I  will  make  no 
attempt  to  reconcile  them;  I  will 
simply  submit  my  will,  as  has  to  be 
done  in  respect  to  all  the  other 
questions  of  the  faith.  I  am  not  a 
theologian:   it  is  not  my  part  to 

decide  such  matters,  and  God  does 
not  ask  me  to  understand.  He  asks 
me  to  submit  my  will  and  intelli- 
gence, and  I  will  do  so.' 

This  confession  of  his  fiekith  needs 
no  commentary.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, which  painfully  recall 
those  of  the  death-bed  of  Adolphe 
Gratry,  it  can  have  but  one  expla- 
nation. The  children  of  the  Church 
of  Rome  love  her — through  right 
and  through  wrong  they  love  her — 
and  in  France  no  wonder.  In  an 
age  all  chaotic  she  stands  firm  on 
the  rock  of  the  Fisherman's  faith. 
Vexed  tides  and  contrary  winds 
have  often  wi*ecked  the  vessel  of  the 
State ;  the  ship  of  the  Church  will 
outride  the  storm.  Society  is  flip- 
pant, godless,  and  sensual,  but  she 
trains  up  Spartan  sons.  Modem 
schools  of  thought  for  the  *  very 
God '  of  the  Credo,  can  at  best  sub- 
stitute and  acknowledge  an  Un- 
knowable and  an  Unknown ;  bnt  in- 
stead of  a  force  offerees,  recognised 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  known,  the 
Church  points  to  the  Light  of  Lights, 
as  lightening  every  man  that  cometh 
into  the  world.  Immortality  and  Ha 
hopes  may  be  fading  out  of  many 
minds  too  gross  to  need  its  promises 
or  to  note  its  foreshadowings,  bat 
the  Church  still  proclaims  as  God's 
last,  best  gift '  the  life  of  the  world 
to  come.' 

The  disorders  and  distractions, 
the  ignorance,  idleness,  and  selfish- 
ness of  modem  France  might  also 
well  have  inclined  Montalembert  and 
his  friends  to  revert  fondly  to  a  time 
when  French  churchmen  were  su- 
preme in  politics,  piety,  and  thought, 
till  they  felt  that  the  eclipse  of  faith  is 
the  night  of  a  nation.  What  wonder, 
then,  if  as  French  society  emerged 
from  the  darkness  of  a  quarter  of 
a  century  these  men  turned  to 
the  Catholic  Church  as  to  a  fountain 
of  rejuvenescence  ?  And  when,  as 
from  the  roots  of  trees  that  have 
been  felled,  Montalembert  saw  fresh 
saplings  spring,  green  with  beauty 
and  with  promise,  what  wonder  that 


Charles  de  Montalernbert. 


be  looked  upon  his  Cbnrch  as  the 
snrsiDg  mother  of  society,  saw 
with  prophetic  joy  issne  from  her 
Agates,'  in  unbroken  snccession  and 
in  inexhaustible  supply,  'the  ser- 
rants  and  the  handmaids  of  Ood?' 

La  Querela  bid  &ir  at  one  time 
to  be  a  second  Port  Boyal.  So 
mach  the  Catholic  revivalists 
schievod,  but  no  more.  But  this  re- 
vival of  an  obsolete  monastic  sys- 
tem had  to  be  nursed  in  a  foreign 
country,  and  their  scheme  for  the 
restoration  of  society  was  withered 
like  the  oak  leaves  from  the  convent 
trees.  False  as  an  anachronism,  it 
was  false  to  common  sense,  and  it 
was  in  its  details  false  to  patriotism. 

Yet  where  the  Avenir  propa- 
ganda had  been  condemned,  this 
plan  received  the  Papal  sanction, 
and  with  all  its  £gital  errors  it 
had  Uie  delighted  approval  of  M. 
de  Montalernbert.  The  Pontiff  pro- 
hablj  thought  it  harmless,  but  the 
statesman  must  have  failed  to  see 
that  it  never  could  leaven  society 
since  it  began  by  renouncing  it, 
or  save  a  country  since  the  first 
step  was  to  leave  it.  Why  did  he 
fidl  to  see  this  ?  Because  Borne 
gives  a  deadly  wine  to  her  sons; 
because  when  integrity  of  mind 
has  once  been  lost,  the  sense  is  lost 
bj  which  men  distinguish  truth 
from  error.  Had  these  friends  been 
tnie  in  early  lif^  to  the  light  which 
was  in  them,  their  lives,  which 
could  not  have  been  more  saintly, 
wonld  have  been  perhaps  more 
stormy  and  certainly  more  useful. 

Given  over  to  a  strong  delusion,  be- 
cause they  persistently  preferred  a 
system  to  the  truth,  and  to  all  its 
consequences,  their  plan  was  written 
on  water.  It  was  not  the  com- 
mencement of  a  great  social  work, 
but  rather,  when  understood  aright, 
the  expression  of  a  profound  social 
despair,  and,  like  despair,  it  has  had 
no  offspring  and  no  future.  The 
taste  for  conventualism  which  it 
has  imported  into  Prance  is  one  of 
the  many  evils  with  which  French 
society  has  now  to  contend,  and  the 
cloister  now  receives  many  a  life 
and  too  many  an  endowment  sorely 
needed  in  another  field.  The  ex- 
tent to  which  this  affects  provin- 
cial life  is  perhaps  not  well  known, 
or  much  realised  out  of  Prance, 
though  it  is  probably  not  unknown 
to  the  acute  statesman  who  has  just 
banished  the  religious  orders  from 
the  new  German  Empire. 

The  staff  of  the  Avenir  and  the 
brotherhood  of  La  Quercia  are  both 
now  things  of  the  past  in  Prance, 
where  events  follow  each  other  so 
fiercely  fast.  But  her  Church  is 
unquiet  still.  One  or  two  daring 
men  have  sympathised  with  the  Old 
Catholic  party  in  Munich,  but  the 
Ultramontane  policy  is  very  vigor- 
ous, and  in  recent  years  the  private 
convictions  of  such  teachers  as  Du- 
panloup  and  Adolphe  Gratnr  have 
experienced  an  eclipse  like  those  of 
Montalembert.  In  fact,  there  are 
at  this  moment  but  few  rifbs  in 
the  clouds  that  overhang  the  future 
of  the  Gallican  Church. 




rE  writer  of  this  paper  knows 
something  of  Lever;  and  while 
that  lonely  grave  at  Trieste  is  still 
^resh,  and  the  public  gaze  yet  fixed 
upon  ity  he  Would  honestly  tell  that 
something,  pruned  of  all  unkind- 
liness,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  in 
the  spirit  of  Hamlet's  '  Alas  !  poor 

Leaving  the  coffin  for  the  cradle, 
and  beginning  with  Lever's  birth, 
it  might  be  said  that  he  himself 
would  seem  not  to  have  been  very 
accurately  informed  about  bis  age, 
ii  the  memoir,  revised  by  his 
own  hand,  in  Men  of  the  Tinie 
be  taken  as  evidence.  Mechanically 
following  this  guide,  the  blunder 
has  been  repeated  in  different 
sketches  that  have  appeared  since 
his  death;  but  a  mortgage  pre- 
served in  the  Registry  of  Deeds 
Office,  Dublin,  conclusively  esta- 
blishes the  truth,  and  furnishes  an 
interesting  glimpse  of  the  unpre- 
tentious calling  of  his  father: — 
'  1809.  James  Foxall  to  James 
Lever,  carpenter  and  builder; 
premises  North  Strand;  dwelling- 
house,  outhouses,  yard,  and  garden, 
bounded  east  by  North  Strand, 
west  by  Montgomery  Street — 
lives  of  John  Lever,  eldest  son  ot 
lessee,  and  Chas.  Jas.  Lever,  hia 
second  son — John  then  aged  13 
years,  Charles  J.  3  years.' 

Thus  it  appears  that  Charles  Lever 
was  not  born  in  1809,  but  in  i8o6. 

Mr.  C n,  of  Dublin,  an  emi- 
nent builder,  now  in  his  seventy- 
eighth  year,  and  for  many  years 
the  neighbour  of  James  Lever,  de- 
scribes him  as  an  English  carpenter 
who,  emigrating  to  Lreland,  ob- 
tained, through  the  favour  of  the 
ruling  powers,  the  work  of  the 
Custom  House,  and  rose  to  wealth 
in  the  enjoyment  of  a  monopoly 
much  coveted  by  his  brethren  in 
the  trade.  A  book  called  Sketchea 
of  Irish  PoUHeal  Characters^  pub- 

lished in  1 799,  describes  the  Custom 
House  as  then  recently  built  by  the 
Right  Hon.  John  Claudius  Beres- 
ford,  Commissioner  of  Revenue, 
nominally  for  the  public  service, 
but  really  as  a  palace  for  personal 
residence.  He  was  the  backstairs 
Viceroy  who  manipulated  every 
department  of  the  Executive,  and 
in  comparison  to  whose  power  the 
Lord^-lAeutenant  himself  was  little 
better  than  a  cypher.  This  potential 
family  is  still  represented  by  persons 
wielding  high  influence.  In  a  recent 
visit  of  the  Lord  Primate  to  the  Soli- 
citor's Office  in  the  Custom  House, 
Dublin,  he  gaaed  so  steadfe^sUy 
around,  that  one  of  the  officials  ven- 
tured to  say,  *'  Your  Grace  seems  to 
know  this  room? '  '  I  ought,'  was 
the  reply,  '  for  I  was  bom  in  that 
comer.'  The  patronage  of  Lever 
by  the  Beresfords  proved  of  incal- 
culable advantage  to  his  own  inte- 
rests and  that  of  his  family. 

It  may  be  added  that  James 
Lever  before  he  died  became  a  very 
extensive  contractor,  building  some 
of  the  finest  churches  in  Dablin. 
He  had  his  country  seat^  too,  at 
Raheeny,  known  as  Moat-field,  which 
afterwards  became  the  residence 
of  Michael  Staunton,  Esq.,  editor 
of  the  Morning  Begister  and  later 
an  important  public  officer  in  Dub- 
lin, who  took  it  diieot  from  Lever. 

James  Lever's  will  is  preserved 
in  the  Prerogative  Court,  Dablin^ 
dated  May  26,  1833,  in  whicb  all 
his  property  is  devised  between  his 
sons,  John  and  Charles  James. 
This  John,  we  may  observe,  having 
graduated  in  Trinity  College,Dabliny 
and  attained  Holv  Orders,  was  sent 
as  cniate  to  TulLunore,  (where  be 
attended  in  his  last  illness  the 
celebrated  Lord  Chief  Justice 
Norboi^,  whose  taste  for  a  capital 
conviction  was  notorious)  and  after- 
wards received  the  living  of  Ard- 
nucber,  in  the  diocese  of  Meath. 


A  Sketch  of  GharUs  Lever. 


The  DMin  Directory  for  the  year 
1^21  records,  for  the  first  time,  the 
uame,  *Eev.G.N.  Wnght,  Principal 
of  tbe  Proprietary  School,  «  Great 
Denmark  Street.'  To  this  academy 
yoTing  Charles  Lever  was  sent,  and 
he  is  vividly  remembered  for  his 
powers  of  story-telling  by  several 
of  bis  schoolfellows  with  whom  we 
haye  conversed,    inolading    .John 

A ,  Esq.     He  is  described  as  a 

not  veiy  diligent  student,  fonder 
of  taming  over  the  leaves  pf  ro- 
mances dian  those  of  grammars  and 
lesicona^  and  rather  disposed  to  in- 
terrupt the  studies  of  the  other 
hoys  by  the  narratives,  '  to  be  con- 
tboed,'  concocted  in  his  own  brain, 
wberewith  \o  enchained  them 
from  day  to  day.  Of  the  gentle- 
man just  allnded  to,  Lever  was  six 
jcars  the  s^or,  and  his  age 
oamraUy  gave  him  an  ascendency 
and  influence  in  the  school.  John, 
the  elder  though  more  diminutive 
brother,  received  his  education,  as 
we  are  informed  by  his  class-fellow, 

^-  C ^n,  in  a    school  distinct 

^m  Mr. Wright's,  and  of  somewhat 
lesser  mark,  namely,  *The  Mer- 
cantile Academy,  No.  io6  Mecklen- 
bnr^h  Street,'  presided  over  by 
John  Fowler,  Grand  Masonic 
Secretaiy,  who — in  the  estimation 
of  his  awe-stricken  pupils  at  least 
— ^Welded  mysterious  terrors  by 
sbooldering  the  poker  and  cane 

Charles  Lever  does  not  seem  to 
have  remained  very  long  at  Mr. 
WnghVs  academy,  for  the  books  of 
Trinity  Coll^^B,  Dublin,  record  his 
admission  there  on  October  the  14th, 
i8i2.  He  went  through  his  course 
withont  disgrace  and  without  dia- 
tincdan,  &  more  creditably  than 
Goldsmith,  and  with  much  less 
diligence  than  Sheridan.  To  tell 
the  nnvamished  truth,  he  seems 
chiefly  remembered  for  his  rollick- 
mg  fun  and  indomitable  love- 
J»aking.  But  he  tamed  down  a 
httieimder  parental  remonstrance, 
^  in  1828  took  out  his  degim  as 

Bachelor,  and  proceeded  to  the  UniJ 
versity  of  Gottingen  to  study  medi« 
cine.  His  progress  from  Rotterdam 
to  the  Bhine,  explorations  of  all 
sights  along  the  route,  and  student 
hie  in  Germany,  are  veiy  folly  de- 
scribed in  a  series  of  papers  now 
before  us,  entitled,  Notes  from  the 
Log  Book  of  a  Eamhler,  These  are 
marked  by  all  the  pleasant  characte- 
ristics of  Lever's  later  style,  and 
appeared  in  the  ephemeral  pages 
of  a  Dublin  journal  which  reached 
twenty-six  numbers  only.  Snatches 
of  impromptu  song  and  outbursts 
of  rich  animal  spirits  are  delight- 
fully intermingled,  and  formed  a 
pleasant  contrast  to  the  Dryasdust 
school  of  writing  travels  pre- 
viously in  vogue.  The  public  are 
grasped  warmly  by  the  hand  and 
asked — 

Know  ye  the  land  where  the  students  pug« 

Strut  the  streets  in  long  frocks  and  loose 

trousers  and  caps, 
Who,  proud  in  the  glory  of  pipes   and 

Drink  the  downfall  of  nations  in  flat  beer 

or  Schnapps  ? 
Know  ye  the  land  whore  professors  are 

In  the  light    airy  waltz  and  the    swift 

Or  retired  within  dark  groves  their  negus 

are  sipping, 
And   mixing    soft    speeches    with    stout 


Which  KaJte-Schade,  by  the  way,  is 
a  beverage  used  as  a  preventive 
against  catching  cold  by  the  Ger- 
man ladies,  who  are  marvellously 
fond  of  it.  It  is  made  by  grating 
brown  bread,  sugaar,  and  nutmeg 
into  warm  beer  till  the  whole  has 
attained  the  consistency  of  gruel. 

From  the  time  of  the  premature 
death  of  the  Irish  literary  journal 
to  which  we  have  just  referred, 
until  the  establishment  of  the  Buhlm 
TlniversUyMckgazine  in  January  1833, 
young  Lever's  pen  seems  to  have 
been  laid  aside  in  &your  of  the 
lancet  and  scalpel.  At  lladame 
Stevens'  Hospital  and  the  Medical 


A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever. 


School  of  Trinity  College,  both  were 
brought  into  constant  play  nnder 
Gusack  in  the  first,  and  MacGartney 
in  the  latter.  MacGartney,  who  was 
a  strange  bat  able  man,  set  np  in 
the  yarcl  of  the  dissecting  room  a 
marble  tablet  (afterwards  plastered 
over,  but  now  once  more  exposed) 
to  the  effect  that  it  was  consecrated 
to  the  remains  of  those  whose 
bodies  have  been  nsed  for  the  pur- 
poses of  science.  On  Gusack  many 
a  characteristic  trick  was  played  by 
Lever,  who  (like  his  co-novelist, 
Dickens)  was  so  full  of  dramatic 
talent  that  he  absolutely  succeeded 
in  personating  Gusack  to  the  class 
one  morning  for  a  short  time,  pro- 
bably during  the  arrangements  pre- 
liminary to  the  lecture.  The  gay 
young  Doctor  organised  a  Baccha^ 
nalian  Glub,  rdoicing  in  the  title 
of  *  Burschenschafb,'  of  which  he 
became  the  Orand  Lavia,  Redolent 
of  tobacco,  and  thoroughly  German 
in  its  proclivities,  this  social  reunion 
evidenced  a  love  of  all  things  Ger- 
man, unless,  perhaps,  German  silver, 
if  the  title  of  one  of  its  high  officers 
— ^Hereditary  Bearer  of  the  Wooden 
Spoon — may  be  taken  as  evidence. 
German  songs  were  sung  and  trans- 
lated by  Lever,  who  afterwards  gave 
them  a  place  in  The  Oonfessions  of 
Hamj  Lorrequer.  Sparkling  recol- 
lections of  these  jovial  nights  have 
been  expressed  by  one  who,  as  a 
him  raconteur  and  a  pleasant  singer, 
contributed  not  a  little  to  make 
them  enjoyable. 

On  the  outburst  of  that  terrible 
•epidemic,  the  cholera  morbus,  in 
f  832,  Gharles  was  appointed  by  the 
Government  to  minister  profes- 
sionally to  the  sufferers  at  Port- 
rush  and  Goleraine  successively. 
His  experiences  at  that  trying  time 
are  effectively  embodied  in  8i, 
Pairick*8  Eve,  While  engaged  in 
the  perilous  and  irksome  duty  to 
which  we  refer,  it  was  his  good 
fortune  to  make  the  acquaintance 
at  Pot'trush  of  William  Hamilton 

Maxwell,  author  of  The  Wild  Sports 
of  the  West  and  Stories  of  Water- 
ho.    This  distinguished  person  was 
Rector  of  Balla,  in  Mayo,  but  those 
who  remember  his  dashing  and  im* 
provident  disposition  will   not  be 
surprised  to  learn  that  pecuniary  dif. 
ficulties  overtook  him,  and  that  at 
the  period  of  Lever*s  first  interview 
with  him    he  was    rusticating  at 
Portrush,  in  the  hope  of  evading 
writs  and  duns.     A  congeniality  of 
tastes  brought  Lever  and  Maxwell 
together  constantly  and  closely:  the 
latter,  as   the  ^author  of    Captain 
Blake  of  the  Bifles,  may  be  said  to 
have  been  the  founder  of  the  nuli- 
tary  novel ;  and  Lever's  plans,  which 
had  been  long  simmering  in  his 
brain,  gradually  attained  boiling  heat 
in  the  fervid  companionship  of  the 
brilliant  parson,  who  enjoyed  wine 
and  punch  at  night,  and  was  given 
more  to  'soda  water'  tiian  'sermons' 
the  next  momiiu^.     Mr.  Maxwell 
had  never  been  in  the  army,  thi 
statements  in    published  sketches 
of  him  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing.     But,  like  Lever,  he  had 
a  sympathetic  knowledge  of  mili- 
tary life  and  manners,  and  while 
Rector    of   Balla   he  enjoyed  the 
privilege    of    having    apartments 
m  the  barracks  of   Gastlebar,  so 
genial  a  companion  did  he  prore 
to    the   officers   of   the  regiments 
quartered     there.     He  once  wrote 
a     letter    against     Lord     Grej's 
Ghurch    Bill,    for   which    he   got 
&om  O'Oonnell  a  Roland  for  his 
Oliver.      The    great    agitator,   in 
a    public    letter    which    playfully 
pilloried  him,  began,  *  Prebendary 
of  Balla,  thou  art  a  wag ! '    When 
he  reiairned   to  his  living.  Lever 
went  on  a  visit  to  him,  was  brought 
into  close  association  with  the  mili- 
tary, met  Jackson,  whose  brother 
was  sub-inspector  of  constabulary  at 
Gastlebar,  and  embodied  in  his  note- 
book those  experiences  of  Glare  Me 
and  its  gentry  of  which  Jackson 
had  already  given  some  rich  sam- 
ples.    In  ilie  Confessions  of  Ban j 


A  SI: etch  of  CJiarles  Lever, 


Loneqwr  mncb  material  which 
Lever  gathered  at  this  period  will 
l«  found  worked  up. 

The  success  of  that  series  of  plea- 
sant papers,  the  Kilnish  Petty  Ses- 
thtiSy  contributed  to  the  Morning 
Herald  in  1832,  are  believed  to 
have  had  effect  in  Btimulating 
Lever's  pen  to  do  likewise.  The 
author  was  Mr.  Jackson,  alluded 
to  aboTB,  better  known  by  his 
pseudonym  of  Temj  Driscoll,  to 
whose  memory  a  fiiie  monument 
has  been  raised  in  Mount  Jerome 
Cemetery,  bearing  the  inscription : 
*A  man  whose  genial  satire  left 
so  sting  behind.'  Jackson  had  been 
a  reporter  on  the  Herald^  but  having 
given  np  to  the  Government  his 
shorthand  notes  of  a  speech  made 
ly  ilr.  O'Connel'l,  he  was  very 
properly  dismissed  by  the  pro- 
prietary. To  compensate  him  for 
this  loss  Jackson  received  from 
the  Crown  an  appointment  in 
Dnhlin  Castle,  worth  150^.  a  year, 
which  he  enjoyed  until  his  death, 
at  the  age  of  forty-five,  in  1857. 

Lever  had  been  for  some  time 
betrothed  to  Catharine  Baker,  but 
an  nntoward  circumstance  threat- 
ened to  delay  their  marriage.  Mean- 
while his  intimacy  with  Maxwell 
became  every  day  of  a  closer  charac- 
ter ;  the  parson  inoculated  his  young 
friend  with  his  views,  and  even  fail- 
ings; and  Lever  with  thorough 
dhandon  flung  himself  into  the  same 
iDllieking  manner  of  life.  Like  Max- 
well,he  aJfio  was  threatened  with  ser- 
vice of  writs,  and  one  day  he  asked 
his  Mentor  to  recommend  him  some 
refugium,  without  being  obliged  to 
start  for  Douglas  or  Boulogne.  Max- 
well counselled  him  by  no  means 
to  leave  the  land  of  bright  eyes  and 
potatoes,  and  that  teland  con- 
tained many  spots  of  picturesque 
beanty  hitherto  unexplored  by  bai- 
lifls,  and  eminently  suited  for  lite- 
rarjr  men  requiring  retirement  or 
inspiration.  Lever  made  enquiries, 
and  a  kind  friend  of  his,  who  after- 
vards  filled  the  oflBce  of  head  engi- 


neer  under  the  Government  during 
the  famine,  informed  him  that  he 
knew  a  priest  in  Glare  who,  he  felt 
assured,  would  be  delighted  to  place 
at  his  disposal,  for  any  length  of 
time,  the  shelter  of  his  hospitable 

The  priest  had  been  under  some 
favours  to  the  engineer,  who  had 
previously  exerted  his  influence 
successfully  to  obtain  a  grant  of 
ground  for  the  enlargement  of  the 
graveyard  attached  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  chapel  in  which  he  offi- 
ciated. The  name  of  this  priest 
was  Comyns ;  and  the  details,  which 
we  have  gleaned  from  the  engineer's 
family,  may  be  relied  upon  for  their 

A  correspondence  was  accord- 
ingly opened  with  the  good  pastor, 
who  replied  in  the  most  encou- 
raging manner,  and  Lever,  in  love, 
debt,  and  disguise,  proceeded  to 
Kilkee.  For  three  calendar  months 
Lever  continued  the  guest  of  Father 
Comyns,  enjoying  the  good  cheer  so 
hospitably  provided,  and  no  less 
the  laughable  stories  and  sallies  of 
his  host.  And  when,  at  last,  the 
character  of  Father  Tom  Loftus  was 
introduced  to  the  public  by  Lever, 
no  one  more  promptly  recognised 
the  portrait  than  Father  Comyns 
himself,  and  in  a  letter  to  the  worthy 
engineer  who  had  been  the  means  of 
bringing  them  together,  he  warmly 
protested  against  the  mode  in  which 
his  hospitality  had  been  abused. 

The  character  of  the  priest  had 
been  overdrawn  by  Lever  for  dra- 
matic eflect,  and,  it  must  also  be 
confessed,  in  deference  to  that  party 
whose  traditional  prejudices  he  re- 
spected and  upheld  ;  but  some  al- 
lowance may,  perhaps,  be  made  for 
a  man  of  the  avowed  Lorrequer 
type,  ardently  anxious  for  adven- 
ture, not  very  particular  as  to 
the  sort,  and  one  ready  to  turn 
to  literary  account  the  result  of 
his  experiences.  The  character  of 
Father  Comyns  is,  on  the  whole, 
a  tolerably  correct  picture   of  the 


A  Sketch  of  GJiarles  Lever. 


traditional  Soggarth  aroon — ^his  only 
weakness  imputed  being  a  disposi- 
tion to  imbibe  a  moderate   share 
of  alcohol,    like    Father    Tom    of 
Boncicault's   Colleen  Baicn,   which 
that  accomplished  re-dresser  of  old 
character  seems  to  have  borrowed 
from  Lever.     Vainly  was  it  repre- 
sented   to    Mr.   Comyns    that  the 
character  of  Father  Tom    Loftus 
was  interesting  and  even  venerable 
— that  the  use  of  stimulants  by  the 
Irish  clergy  was  noticed  as  a  cha- 
racteristic by  Giraldus  Cambrensis, 
the  great  Welsh  bishop — who,  how- 
ever,  strongly    praised    them    for 
chastity.      It  was  all   to   no   use; 
the  Pastor  of  Kilkee  folded  his  arms 
in  anger,  and  refused  to  give  abso- 
lution to  the  author  of  the   (7o7i- 
fessimiSf  who  meanwhile  continued 
his  genuflections,  but  more  in  the 
attitude   of  coaxing  than  of  peni- 
tence.     We  have   spoken    of   the 
absence    of    fastidious     taste     by 
which  the  earlier  of  his  rollicking 
writings  are  marked ;  but  it  is  to 
his    credit  that  nowhere    are    we 
induced  to  breathe  an  atmosphere 
of  impurity.     Love-making  galore^ 
we  have  no  doubt,  but  it  is  honest 
and  legitimate  love-making,  with- 
out any  unhealthy  exhibition  of  the 
anatomy  of  the  passions.    If  his  he- 
roes are  not  of  the  most  scrupulous 
character  and  deserving  of  our  imi- 
tation, it  must,  at  least,  be  conceded 
that  his  heroines  are  everything  that 
can  be  desired.    They  are  full  of  re- 
finement, good  breeding,  and  ele- 
gance, and  seem,  indeed,  incapable 
of    an   unworthy  thought.      Kate 
Dodd  was  the  favourite  girl  of  his 
creation;    he   considered    her    the 
type  of  a  true  Irishwoman.      The 
Dodd  Family  Abroad,  written  in  the 
form  of  letters  after  the   plan  of 
Smollett's    Humphrey    Clinker y    is, 
perhaps,  one  of  the  best  of  his  books. 
Smollett,  by  the  way,  like  Lever, 
combined  the  parts  of  physician  and 
comic  novelist. 

Shortly  after  the  establishment 
of  the  DuhUn  University  Magazine 

in  January  1833,  Lever  joined  its 
ranks  and  contributed  some  papers 
of  more  than  average  ability.  Mean- 
while he  threw  oflf^  roughly,  the 
Coufessimis  of  Harry  Lorrequer^ 
which  embodied  many  stirring  re- 
collections of  the  Continent  and  of 
Clare.  Samuel  Lover,  the  then 
leading  litterateur  of  Dublin,  was 
invited  by  Lever  to  read  the  manu- 
script and  recommend  it  'to  his 
publishers,  who,  however,  were  un- 
willing to  take  it  up.  The  first  in- 
stalment of  the  Confessioiis  was  ne- 
vertheless, published  in  the  Duhlit 
University  Magazine  for  March  1 834. 
The  secret  was  so  well  kept  that 
Lever's  brother,  the  clergyman,  did 
not  know  him  to  be  the  author.  It 
proved  a  hit,  though  all  the  London 
reviews  seem  to  have  either  pooh- 
poohed  or  ignored  it,  as  the  *  opi- 
nions of  the  press,'  gathered  by  Mr. 
W.  Curry,  the  publisher,  would 
seem  to  confess.  The  praise  is  all 
cited  from  provincial  papers,  with 
the  exception  of  one  from  a  military 
journal,  where  the  reviewer  declared 
that  he  would  rather  be  the  author 
of  Harry  Lorrequer's  Confessions  than 
of  all  the  PickwicJcs  or  Nichlehys  m 
the  world.  Ere  long,  however, 
Lever  took  his  stand  amorig  the  | 
most  popular  of  European  novelists.    1 

The  influence  of  Lever's  family 
with  the  Government  was  again 
proved  by  his  appointment  in  i  S37 
to  the  post  of  physician  to  the  British 
Embassy  in  Brussels.  Here  the 
best  society  was  opened  to  him, 
and  a  rich  field  for  the  study  and 
seizure  of  character  as  welL  Jnst 
as  Thackeray,  day  after  day,  in- 
vited to  his  table  an  eccentric 
Irishman,  all  brogue  and  blarney, 
who  furnished  material  for  Captain 
Costigan,  Lever  daily  feasted  a 
retired  major  who  had  served  in 
the  Peninsula,  and  the  character 
of  Monsoon  was  the  result.  The 
major  well  knew  the  uses  to  which 
his  presence  was  to  serve,  but  Le- 
ver's wine  was  so  good,  that  he 
merely  contented  hiniself  with  plea- 


A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever, 


s&utly  apbraiding  liis  host,  now  and 
again,  for  the  too  free  dashes  with 
vhich  his  portrait  was  put  in  from 
Dumber  to  number. 

During  the  progress   of  Charles 
O'MaUttjf  which  had  rapidly   fol- 
lowed up  the  Confessions  in  1840, 
Lever  was  in  the  habit  of   riding 
iLto  Dublin     from     Templeogne, 
and    gathering    from    the    knots 
of  bairifiters  who  thronged  the  hall 
of  the  Four  Courts  material  for 
the  story  in  hand.      One  day  the 
noveb'st  joined  a  group  of  pleasant 
talkers,  with  memories  much  better 
dock^  than  their  bags,  and  in  the 
miiL't  of  whom  our  informant,  Mr. 
Porter,  stood,  narrating  how  in  pass- 
ing through  Tralee  a  short  tinae  be- 
fore he  cdled  to  see  an  old  friend, 
Mr.  Roche,  stipendiary  magistrate 
there,  whose  servant^  when  very  ill, 
said,  'Oh,  masther,  I  don't  think 
it'b  a  right  sort  of  a  docther  that's 
attending  me,  for  he  gave  me  two 
df»5e8  that  ho  called   emetics,  and 
neither  0'  them  would  rest  on  my 
stomach.'    In  the  following  num- 
ber of  Charles  O'Malleij,  Mr.  Porter 
recognised  the  anecdote  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Mickey  Free.     In  the 
same    way  our    late    friend    Mr. 
Brophj,   the     dentist,     a     perfect 
CYclopadia  of  slang  anecdote,  was, 
as  he  himself  assured  us,  frequently 
put  under  contribution  by  Lever. 
The  well-known  incident  in  Harry 
Wre^per,    of  the    officer    coming 
cm  parade  at  Cork  without  remem- 
bering to  wash  ,the  black  oflf  his 
face,  which  had  made  him  a  capital 
Othello  at  priyate  theatricals  the 
previous  night,  really  happened  to 
Captain  Frizelle,  an  ancestor  of  the 
yresent  writer's  family.     The  cha- 
acter  of  Con  Hefieman,  in  another 
level,  is  a  highly  coloured  portrait 
>f  Mr.  O'Connell.    And  *  Davenport 
)ann,  the  Man  of  our  Day,'  is  no 
ther  than    John    Sadleir.     Arch- 
ishop  Whately  likewise  figures  in 
be  i^orelist's  pages,  and  so  do  many 
ther  prominent  persons  familiar  to 
hiblin    society.      That   rich    cha- 

racter, *  Frank  Webber,'  whose 
thoroughly  veracious  adventures 
proved  profitable  to 
Lever,  was  Bobert  Boyle,  as  his 
own  family  assure  us.  He  was  a 
well-known  man  at  Trinity  College, 
and  stopped  at  no  daring  feat,  from 
the  horse-whipping  of  Major  Sirr, 
the  Fouche  of  Dublin,  to  practical 
jokes  on  the  Dean  of  his  University. 

One  incident,  however,  of  which 
Webber  is  made  the  hero,  is  due  to 
Dr.  Seward,  a  worthy  man,  still 
amongst  us.  We  allude  to  the  feat 
of  ventriloquism,  whereby  the  people 
were  induced  to  tear  up  the  pave- 
ment for  the  purpose  of  rescuing 
from  a  sewer  in  York  Street  a  man 
who  announced  himself  as  just  es- 
caped from  Newgate.  One  of  the 
shrewdest  professors  of  the  College 
of  Surgeons,  Dr.  Benson,  was  so 
deceived,  that  he  reprimanded  a 
young  doctor  present  for  his  heart- 
lessness  in  laughing  at  the  suffer- 
ings of  a  fellow-creature  in  dis- 
tress. Lever's  talent  in  dressing 
up  old  stories  for  his  novels, 
was  only  equalled  by  the  tact  with 
which  he  made  a  rechauffe  for  his 
semi -political  papers.  Sir  Brook 
Foshrooke,  Cornelius  O^Dowd,  and 
Lord  Kilgohhin^  of  all  the  old 
points  which  for  many  years  have 
constituted  the  stock-in-trade  of 
Conservative  journalism. 

Mickey  Free  was  originally  in- 
tended as  a  mere  stage  servant  for 
the  removal,  so  to  speak,  of  tables 
and  chairs ;  but  Lever  finding  him 
prove  a  capital  vehicle  for  enun- 
ciating the  good  things  he  had 
picked  up,  he  altered  his  plan  and 
made  him  an  important  figure  of 
more  than  one  book.  In  some 
respects  he  attained  a  celebrity 
second  only  to  Sam  Weller. 

The  name  of  Samuel  Ferguson  has 
been  recently  mentioned  among  the 
men  of  genius  whom  Lever  gathered 
round  him  when  he  undertook,  in 
1842,  the  editorship  of  the  Dvilin 
University  Magaaine ;  but  so  an- 
noyed was  Dr.  Ferguson  with  Lever 

P  2 


A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever, 


for  accepting  Thackeray's  dedication 
of  the  Irish  Sketch  Book,  in  which 
the  country  was  to  some  extent 
travestied,  that  he  refused  to  join 
the  magazine  under  Lever,  and 
even  avoided  meeting  him.  But 
there  were  several  brilliant  men 
left  who  frequented  Lever's  house 
at  Templeogue,  near  Dublin,  and 
made  the  reunions  there  very  delect- 
able. These  pleasant  noctea  are  well 
remembered ;  and  the  beaming  face 
of  our  host,  every  muscle  trembling 
with  humour;  the  light  of  his 
merry  eye ;  the  smile  that  expanded 
his  mouth  and  showed  his  fine 
white  teeth ;  the  musical,  ringing 
laugh,  that  stirred  every  heart ;  the 
finely  modulated  voice,  uttering  some 
witty  Twof,  telling  some  droll  incident, 
or  some  strange  adventure. 

Though  Lever's  fascinating  man- 
ners made  him  one  of  the  most 
popular  of  men,  he  could  sometimes 
say  a  bitter  thing.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  late  Archbishop 
Whately  was  remarkably  suscep- 
tible to  flattery.  One  morning  at 
Redesdale,  near  Stillorgan,  Dublin, 
his  Gbuce  received  a  number  of 
guests,  including  a  large  proportion 
of  the  expectant  clergy,  who  paid 
profound  court  to  the  ex-Fellow  of 
Oriel.  While  walking  through  the 
grounds  Dr.  Whately  plucked  a 
leaf,  which  he  declared  had  a  most 
nauseous  flavour.  *  Taste  it,'  said 
he,  handing  it  to  one  of  the  acolytes. 
The  latter  blandly  obeyed,  and  then 
with  a  wry  face  subscribed  to  the 
botanical  orthodoxy  of  his  master. 
*  Taste  it,'  said  the  gratified  prelate, 
handing  the  leaf  to  Lever.  '  Thank 
your  Grace,'  said  the  latter,  as  he 
declined  it,  *  my  brother  is  not  in 
your  Lordship's  diocese.' 

In  1845,  Lever  vacated  his  edito- 
rial chair  and  returned  to  Brussels, 
from  which  he  was  soon  summoned 
to  fill  a  diplomatic  post  at  Florence. 
Here  he  continued  the  delight  of 
the  Anglo-Florentine   Society  and 

of  all  English  visitors,  until  tlie 
late  Lord  Derby  gave  him  a  Vice^ 
Consulship  at  Spezzia,  with  the 
characteristic  words,  '  Here  is  80c?. 
a  year  for  doing  nothing,  and  yon, 
Lever,  are  the  very  man  to  do  it.' 
From  Spezzia  he  was  transferred, 
in  1867,  to  Trieste,  where  his  pen 
sped  unflaggingly,  and  he  himself 
continued  the  life  and  soul  of  many 
a  pleasant  circle.  In  1870  Le 
visited  Ireland,  was  feted  and 
feasted,  and  it  seemed  to  all  Ids 
old  friends  that  he  had  never  flashed 
more  brightly. 

But  soon  after  his  return  to  Italj 
sorrow  laid  a  deadly  grasp  npon 
him.  His  wife  died,  and  left 
him  lonely.  Gloomy  forebodm^ 
shook  him  as  he  penned  the 
last  lines  of  Lord  Ktlgobhin,  and 
few  will  read  without  emotion  his 
allusion  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
'written  in  breaking  health  and 
broken  spirits.  The  task  that  was 
once  my  joy  and  pride,  I  have  lived 
to  find  associated  with  my  sorrows. 
It  is  not,  then,  without  a  cause  I 
say, 'I  hope  this  effort  may  be  my 

A  few  weeks  before  his  death  he 
writes  to  a  friend,  *  I  cannot  ye: 
say  that  I  am  round  the  comer, 
and,  to  tell  truth,  T  have  so  little 
desire  of  life,  that  my  own  lassitude 
and  low  spirits  go  a  good  way  in 
bearing  me  down.'  And  to  another 
friend  he  said  despondently,  *  I  am 
weary  and  foot-sore.*  Lever  sanl: 
to  rest  sadly,  but  not  in  bodily  pain. 
He  died  in  his  sleep  at  Trieste,  June 
1872,  and  three  days  after  he  was 
buried  in  the  English  cemetery 
near  the  same  place. 

It  may  be  added  that  LererV' 
property  was  sworn  under  4,000/. 
— a  sum  which  may  surprise  thos? 
who  know  the  high  prices  his  nnin- 
terrupted  series  of  successful  novels 
fetched,  and  the  pleasant  sinecures 
he  held  in  Italy. 

W.  J.  F. 




JUDGING  from  the  healthy  signs 
f)  manifested  of  late  years,  it  would 
really  seem  that  we  may  look  for- 
ward to  the  gradual  removal  of 
that  apathetic  ignorance  which, 
until  qnite  recently,  prevailed 
amongst  even  well-educated  Eng- 
lishmen in  regard  to  the  domestic, 
social  and  political  life  of  the  varied 
races  of  Hindustan,  and  to  the  work 
of  administration  which  for  upwards 
of  a  century  we  have  carried  on 
amongst  them.  The  interest  excited 
is  not  entirely  disinterested.  A 
i'aTonrite  theme  of  the  so-called 
Manchester  School,  is  the  identity  of 
the  interests  of  India  with  those  of 
England — the  latter  phrase  mean- 
ing, in  plain  language,  the  promo- 
tion of  England's  material  wealth, 
and  more  especially  the  extension 
of  her  cotton  manufsu^tures — and 
in  whose  views,  apparently,  the 
most  assuring  step  towards  the 
complete  regeneration  of  India 
would  be  a  law  compelling  the 
cultivation  of  cotton  in  every  acre 
of  the  land. 

But  I  am  not  concerned  now  with 
the  theoretical  question  of  Englan d'  s 
niission  to  India;  and  as  to  the 
views  alluded  to,  we  may  rest  as- 
sured that  there  is  sufficient  good 
sense  remaining  in  the  kingdom  at 
large,  and  especially  amongst  those 
who  are  more  immediately  con- 
cerned in  the  Government  of  India, 
to  preserve  that  vast  territory  with 
its  teeming  millions,  from  being 
dealt  with  as  a  mere  appanage  of 
Cottonopolis.  Mj  object  in  this 
paper  is  simply  to  give  a  brief 
sketch  of  a  civilian's  daily  work  in 
tiie  districts  comprised  under  the 
lieutenant-  governorship  of  the 
North- Western  Provinces,  of  which 
Allahabad  is  the  seat  of  Government. 
The  area  of  a  district  averages 
about  2,000  square  miles,  with  a 
population  varying  from  600,000  to 
over  a  million.     The  districts  are 

grouped  together  into  divisions — 
four  or  five    being   generally  the 
number    comprised  in  a  divisipn. 
This  larger  area  is  under  a  com- 
missioner, who  thus  stands  midway 
between  the  Government  and  the 
officer  charged  with  the  administra- 
tion of  the  district,  who  is  termed  a 
'Magistrate  and  Collector.'      The 
duties  of  this  latter  officer — and  it 
is  with  these  only  I  am  concerned 
— are  of  a  most  important  character. 
He  is  to  the  people  of  his  district 
the  direct  representative  of  Govern- 
ment, and  his  influence  among  them 
is   proportionately  great;   and  for 
the   well-being    and  judicious  ad- 
ministration  of  the  district  he  is 
held  responsible.     He  is  collector 
of  the  land  and  all  other  kinds  of 
revenue — the    custodian    and    dis- 
burser  of  the  public  funds  —  head 
excise  officer — controller  of  the  sale 
of   opium    and    stamps,   and    the 
manager    of    sequestrated    estates. 
The  construction  of  all  local  roads  ; 
the    building    of    bridges,    police 
stations,  schoolhouses    and    other 
public   works  ;    the  direction   and 
control   of  municipalities   (an    at- 
tempt to  educate  the  people  in  the 
art  of  self-government,  which  has 
hitherto  met  with  but  ill  success)  ; 
the   management   of  all  charitable 
institutions,    such    as    dispensaries 
and    hospitals  ;    the    fostering     of 
education,  and  the  promotion  of  sani- 
tary works, — all  devolve  upon  him. 
He  constitutes  a  revenue  court  for 
the  trial    of   suits  between   land- 
owners and  their  tenants,  and,  in 
addition  to  his  judicial  duties  in  the 
magisterial  department,  he  is   re- 
sponsible for  the  efficiency  of  the 
police  in  the  detection  and  repres- 
sion of  crime,  and  for  their  success 
or  otherwise  in  bringing  to  justice 
all  oflenders  against  the  laws.     To 
assist  him  in  these  various  branches 
of  administration,  besides  an  un- 
covenanted  staff  of  native  or  Eura- 


Daily  WorJe  in  a  Norih-West  Biatrid, 


sian  sub  -  collectors  and  deputy- 
magifltratea  with  varying  degrees  of 
authority,  he  has  generally  a  *  Joint 
Magistrate  and  Deputy  Collector/ 
and  two  or  three  'Assistants/  be- 
longing to  the  Covenanted  Service. 
Amongst  these  the  work  of  the 
district  is  apportioned,  but  for  its 
due  and  efficient  performance  Go- 
vernment holds  the  *  Magistrate  and 
Collector  *  personally  accountable. 

The  civilian's  work  not  unseldom 
— ^indeed,  I  may  say,  generally — be- 
gins at  day-break.  It  is  not  often 
that  there  is  such  a  dearth  of  out- 
door work  of  one  kind  or  another 
that  he  can  count  the  early  morning 
hours  his  own.  Almost  before  the 
sun  has  peered  through  the  morn- 
ing haze,  and  shot  its  level  rays 
across  the  wide  expanse  of  field  and 
plain,  he  has  mounted  his  horse,  and, 
accompanied  only  by  his  favourite 
dog  it  may  be,  is  away  to  some  dis- 
tant village  where  there  may  be  one 
or  two  hours*  work  cut  out  for  him. 
It  may  be  a  disputed  boundary  that 
requires  his  examination ;  or  a  canal 
may  have  burst  its  bounds,  swamp- 
ing the  crops  on  either  side,  and 
raising  an  outcry  from  their  owners; 
or  a  heavy  storm  of  hail  may  have 
damaged  the  growing  com,  and 
landowners  are  clamorous  for  re- 
mission of  revenue ;  or  local  in- 
vestigation may  be  necessary  in 
order  to  adjust  a  dispute  between  a 
landlord  and  his  tenant  as  to 
whether  certain  lands  are  to  be 
classed  as  irrigable,  and  bear  a 
higher  rent-rate  in  consequence,  or 
not ;  or  rancour  may  have  run  so 
high  between  parties  of  Hindus  and 
Masalmdns  in  a  quarrel  about  some 
burial-ground,  or  plot  of  land  in 
the  vicinity  of  a  temple  or  mosque, 
as  to  threaten  a  riot;  or  some 
locality  or  premises  may  have  to  be 
examined,  with  a  view  of  ascertain- 
ing whether  an  alleged  highway 
robbery  or  burglary  was  an  actual 
occurrence,  or  merely  a  vexatious 
fabrication,  as  the  police  possibly 
surest ;  or  an  aggravated  case  of 

murder  may  have  been  mismanaged 
by  the  police,  and  the  ms^istrate 
may  deem  it  necessary  to  make  an 
investigation  in  person,  and  on  the 
spot ;  or  there  may  be  police  sta- 
tions, schools,  dispensaries  to  be 
inspected ;  or  personal  supervision 
may  be  required  on  some  local 
work — the  construction  of  a  road,  an 
important  bridge,  or  some  Govern- 
ment building.  Or  again,  the  work 
may  be  nearer  home,  and  the  bazars, 
lanes,  and  gullies  of  the  huge  over- 
grown town  at  the  head- quarter 
station,  .with  its  30,000  to  100,000 
inhabitants,  have  to  be  threaded, 
that  the  magistrate  may  satisfy 
himself  that  the  conservancy  of  the 
town,  and  all  the  imposed  sanitaiy 
arrangements,  are  duly  attended  to. 
Such  are  a  few  of  the  occupations 
that  may  fill  up  the  civilian's  early 
morning  hours,  as  a  prelude  to  the 
more  sedentary  work  of  mid-day. 
During  the  cold  weather  this  out- 
door work  is  enjoyable  enough,  and 
many  a  pleasant  memory  is  associ- 
ated with  it.  Camp  life  especially, 
if  only  one  has  a  companion,  is  the 
most  delightful  kind  of  existence 
conceivable,  and  its  charm  is  en- 
hanced by  the  enervating  dulness 
of  station-life  during  the  previous 
hot  weather  months,  from  May  to 
September.  But  even  during  those 
fiery  months  (and  one  must  person- 
ally encounter  hot  weather  in  the 
North- West  to  understand  what  it 
is),  the  civilian  will  often  have  ac- 
complished a  journey  of  15  to  o«> 
miles,  or  even  more,  with  a  good 
spell  of  satisfactory  work  besides, 
by  the  time  that  most  people  in 
England  are  thinking  of  turning  out 
of  bed.  He  will  have  started  from 
home,  after  a  hastily-swallowed  meal 
of  toast  and  tea,  while  it  is  still 
dark — while  Orion's  belt  is  still 
glistening  brightly  in  the  dark  blue 
vault,  or  the  moon  still  shines  witit 
her  golden  light  unpaled.  At  first 
the  change  from  indoors,  where 
the  thermometer  has  ranged  from 
96°  to  100°  Fahrenheit,  is  veiy  re- 


Daily  Work  m  a  NortJi-West  BistncL 


freshmg,  for  the  only  touch  of  cool- 
ness is  to  be  felt  oat-of-doors  during 
the  hour  and  a  half  immediately 
preceding  day-break.  After  the 
jiweltering  heat  of  the  night,  the 
soft  monuDg  air  fans  the  cheek  de- 
iiciously,  as  the  horse  is  urged  on 
^ster  and  faster,  so  as  to  complete 
as  much  of  the  journey  "as  possible 
More  the  first  gleam  of  sunshine 
comes.  But  this  is  soon  over :  as 
the  twilight  grows  less  grey,  and 
the  distance  opens  out  more  clearly, 
the  air  grows  perceptibly  warmer, 
then  sulfery ;  the  sultriness  soon 
becomes  a  sweltering  heat,  and 
even  before  the  snn*s  first  limb 
appears,  the  perspiration  bursts 
from  every  pore,  and  horse  and 
rider  alike  are  heartily  glad  when 
their  task  is  done  and  they  are 
home  again.  A  plunge  in  the 
station  swimming-bath,  however,  or 
if  there  is  not  such  an  institution, 
the  lesser  enjoyment  of  the  solitary 
*  ijih '  speedily  removes  the  bodily 
and  mental  fatigue  that  a  hard 
morning's  ride  beneath  a  broiling 
?an  may  have  induced,  and  gives 
fresh  energy  for  work. 

And  there  is  plenty  of  this  to 
engage  the  attention  during  the 
hour  or  so  still  intervening  before 
the  Courts  open.  Even  the  few 
minutes  of  waiting  whilst  break- 
^t  is  being  served,  are  seldom 
left  unoccupied.  The  saddle-bags 
of  the  mounted  orderly  have  dis- 
gorged a  huge  pile  of  official  letters 
that  the  morning's  post  has  just 
brought  in — letters  calling  for  ex- 
planations, reports,  opinions,  and 
statistics  ad  nauseam  ;  and  there  are 
probably  two  or  throe  natives  seated 
en  the  verandah,  waiting  for  an 
interview — ^wealthy  residents  of  the 
bead-quarters  town,  or  influential 
landowners  from  the  interior  of  the 
iistrict,  municipal  commissioners 
w  honorary  magistrates.  An 
)fficep's  popularity,  and  also  his 
fuccess  in  administration,  de- 
)end  to  a  very  great  extent  on  his 
>eing  easy  of  access,  and  showing 

courtesy  and  affability  in  his  re- 
lations with  the  people  of  his 
District,  and  such  of  his  native 
subordinates  as  occupy  posts  of 
dignity  and  responsibility.  It  is 
his  duty  to  enlist  their  sympathy  in 
the  cause  of  order  and  good  govern- 
ment, and  to  secure  as  far  as  pos- 
sible their  ready  assistance  in  the 
repression  and  detection  of  crime — 
assistance,  the  lending  of  which 
strengthens  the  hands  of  the  magis- 
trate  incalculably,  while  the  with- 
holding of  it  must  inevitably  prove 
most  disastrous.  And  from  them 
also  he  may  gain  such  an  insight 
into  the  popular  feeling,  and  such 
an  acquaintance  with  the  wishes 
and  requirements  of  each  class  of 
native  society,  as  may  be  of  material 
assistance  in  the  work  of  judicious 
and  profitable  legislation.  As  a  rule, 
even  the  wealthier,  well-to-do  land- 
owners and  native  gentlemen,  are 
not  very  well  informed ;  still  many 
of  them  are  fairly  intelligent,  pos- 
sessed of  some  shrewdness,  and  able 
to  discuss  and  argue  upon  —  not 
unprofitably  —  such  questions  of 
general  policy  as  may  bear  upon 
their  interests.  At  the  same  time 
it  rarely  happens  that  their  views 
are  unprejudiced.  Scant  education 
partly  accounts  for  this,  and  want 
of  an  extended  knowledge  of  the 
world  necessitates  almost  a  corres- 
ponding narrowness  of  view.  Still, 
these  interviews,  allowing  as  they 
do  of  the  free  expression  of  the 
opinions  of  the  influential  classes  of 
the  community,  are  of  considerable 
value,  and  the  more  so  as  the  wide 
— I  may  say,  the  impassable — gulf 
that  yawns  between  the  habits,  feel- 
ings, and  religions  of  the  governing 
and  the  subject  races,  renders  a  closer 
intimacy  altogether  impossible. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  in  former 
days  our  rule  was  more  popular 
than  it  is  now,  because  the  Euro- 
peans in  India  associated  more  freely 
with  their  native  fellow-subjects. 
Admitting  the  fact  of  the  compara- 
tive absence  of  anymutual  sympathy 


Daily  Worlc  in  a  North-West  District. 


now-a-days,  and  admitting  the  wide 
divergence  of  social  habits  and  re- 
ligious feelings  to  be  in  some  mea- 
sure the  cause  of  it,  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  is  desirable  to  wish  the  old 
times  back  again.  Undoubtedly 
in  a  certain  sense  there  was  a 
closer  sympathy  between  the  races. 
But,  for  the  feelings  of  two 
classes  so  widely  estranged  by 
nature  and  education  to  be  brought 
into  accord,  they  must  be  reduced 
to  something  like  a  common  level. 
But,  if  this  end  is  gained  only  by 
the  retrogression  of  the  more  ad- 
vanced class,  it  can  hardly  be 
reckoned  worth  the  cost.  In  former 
days  Europeans  in  India  degenerated 
to  a  great  extent  into  semi- Asiatics ; 
but,  desirable  as  the  promotion  of  a 
closer  sympathy,  and  the  bringing 
about  of  a  greater  unity  of  feeling 
may  be,  we  can  scarcely  wish  it 
purchased  at  the  expense  of  our 
worthiest  characteristics  as  English- 
men and  Christians.  For  my  own 
part,  I  am  not  sanguine  as  to  any 
great  change  taking  place  in  the 
feelings  of  the  natives  towards  us. 
India  became  ours  by  conquest,  and 
as  a  conquered  country  we  shall 
always — so  far  as  it  is  possible  to 
see  at  present  —  hold  it.  Those 
natives  who  are  intelligent  enough 
to  understand  the  circumstances  of 
India  will  cling  to  us  honestly  and 
serve  us  faithfully,  because  they 
feel  that  there  is  far  more  real 
liberty  and  happiness  to  be  en- 
joyed under  our  rule  than  under 
the  best  native  administration,  and 
because  they  have  prescience  enough 
to  know  that,  were  our  rule  with- 
drawn it  would  simply  give  place 
to  anarchy  the  most  disastrous  and 
destructive  that  it  is  possible  to 
conceive.  But  such  men,  even 
while  loyally  serving  us,  it  may  be, 
in  posts  of  dignity  and  trust,  will 
frankly  tell  us  that  in  reality  they 
bear  us  little  love,  and  that  they 
would  rejoice — ^were  there  any  ti 
lerable  alternative — to  see  India 
quit  of  us  for  ever. 

We  will  now  suppose  the  last  in- 
terview at  an  end,  in  all  probabilitj 
cut  short  by  the  announcement  that 
breakfast  is  on  the  table.  This  is 
usually  not  a  very  punctual  meal, 
the  time  for  breakfast  being  depen- 
dent  for  the  most  part  upon  the 
quantity  of  work  that  has  to  be  de- 
spatched beforehand.  About  i  o  a.m. 
is  the  usual  hour,  except  during  the 
hottest  weeks  of  thehot  season,  when 
it  is  customary  in  some  disiaicts  for 
the  courts  to  open  at  6  a.m.,  in  which 
case  the  civilian  probably  does  not 
get  home  till  one  or  two  in  the  after- 
noon. Breakfast  over,  a  few  more 
minutes  will  again  be  devoted  to 
official  correspondence.  At  last  the 
clock  gives  its  warning  note;  the 
despatch-box  and  small  library  of 
law-books  that  the  magistrate  t-akes 
with  him  daily  to  court,  are  shoul- 
dered by  the  attendant  orderheg, 
and  marched  off  to  the  court-house, 
whither  the  magistrate  himself, 
either  on  horseback  or  in  his  buggy, 
soon  follows.  With  more  or  less 
obsequiousness  the  motley  groups 
of  native  officials  and  hangers-on 
of  the  court,  pleaders  and  litigants 
make  their  salams,  and,  amid  the 
general  semi-prostration,  and  a 
rustling  of  purple  q*nd  fine  linen, 
the  Hakim,  as  he  is  called,  takes 
his  seat.  As  a  rule,  the  hearing  cf 
petitions  forms  the  first  business  of 
the  day.  A  jostling  crowd  soon 
fills  the  room,  and,  as  each  one 
presses  forward,  his  petition  is 
taken,  and  according  to  its  purpor: 
is  read  out  by  the  Serishtadars  of 
the  Eevenue,  or  the  magisterial  de- 
partment respectively. 

The  Serishtadar,  or  head  clerk  of 
the  court,  is  a  personage  of  coh' 
siderable  importance  in  the  eyes  of 
the  natives,  and  in  his  own  estima- 
tion also.  He  is  credited  with  the 
poss^ession  of  great  power  for  weal 
or  woe,  and  in  old  times,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  he  did  actually  exercise  a  most 
illegitimate  and  unwholesome  influ- 
ence in  the  settlement  of  cases  be- 
fore the  courts,  and  also  made  not  a 


Daily  Work  in  a  Narth^Wesi  Dish-let. 


link  gain  bj  bribes,  or,  to  use  the 
eaphemistio  native  term,  by  'nnz- 
2urs/  that  is,  presents.  Even  now- 
a-dajB  these  men  hold  their  durbars 
or  levees  at  their  homes  in  the  early 
morning,  and  their  favour  and  sup- 
port are  eagerly  sought  for  even  by 
men  of  position  and  respectability. 
Bat  there  is  mnch  more  integrity 
amongst  native  officials  now  than 
there  was  a  dozen  years  ago.  To 
deny  the  existence  of  bribery  would 
certain] J  be  untrue,  but  it  is  not 
ncarJj  so  rife  as  it  was,  and  the 
opportunities  for  the  exercise  of 
(lislionest  influence  are  compara- 
tively restricted.  At  any  rate,  there 
is  no  excuse  for  the  man  who  is 
fooh'sh  enough  to  spend  his  money 
ill  bribing  the  officials,  under  the 
delusion  they  can  secure  for 
him  some  &vonr,  or  gain  for  him 
the  collector's  ear.  There  is  such 
T^y  access  at  all  times,  and  cases 
are  so  thoroughly  gone  into,  that 
any  trickery  can  at  once  be  brought 
to  notice.  And,  in  fact,  the  remedy 
arrainst  corruption  lies  in  the  hands 
of  the  people  themselves. 

The  petitions  are  of  the  most  mis- 
cellaneous description.  First  of  all 
there  are  half-a-dozen  or  more  petty 
charges  of  assault — ^the  *  vilia  cor- 
pora,' on  which  the  young  assistant, 
newly  joined,experimentalises,  with- 
out thechance  of  any  very  greatharm 
resulting  should  want  of  experience 
lead  him  into  error ;  then  there  are 
c'..;;rges  of  criminal  trespass,  mis- 
chief to  property,  criminal  bveach 
of  trust, cheating,  and  other  offences. 
Awifeprefersa  claim  for  maintenance 
against  her  husband,  who  has  desert- 
ed her ;  a  cultivator  complains  that 
his  neighbour  has  encroached  upon 
his  field,  or  ousted  him  from  the  use 
of  some  common  well ;  a  small  trader 
pleads  for  exemption  from  the  local 
rates  for  watch  and  ward,  or  from  the 
income  tax  ;  a  landowner  prays  for 
compensation  for  a  portion  of  his 
Jaad  taken  up  for  the  railway,  or 
extension  of  a  canal ;  the  heirs  of  a 
deceased  landowner  claim  to  have 

their  names  entered  on  the  Revenue 
Roll.  Then  there  are  petitions  for 
Government  loans  for  the  construc- 
tion of  wells  or  tanks,  applications 
for  the  execution  of  decrees,  or  for 
assistance  in  the  ejectment  of  a 
tenant,  or  in  the  distraint  of  a 
defaulter's  crops  ;  and  initiatory 
plaints  in  the  varied  classes  of  suits 
between  landholders  and  their  te- 
nants, in  which  the  Collectorate 
Courts  have  primary  jurisdiction. 

The  extraordinary  partiality  for 
falsehood  that  marks  the  native 
character  being  notorious,  it  need, 
perhaps,  scarcely  be  said  that  in 
many  of  these  petitions,  especially 
those  embodying  criminal  charges, 
when  the  alloy  of  untruth  or  exag- 
geration is  cleared  away,  the  resi- 
duum of  real  fact  is  very  small.  In 
by  far  the  greater  number  of  the 
complaints  to  the  Criminal  Courts 
there  is  at  any  rate  some  surplusage ; 
it  seems  almost  as  if  it  were  a  na- 
tural impossibility  for  a  native  to 
tell  *  nothing  but  the  truth ; '  a 
little  hyperbole  must  be  introduced 
to  aggravate  the  charge,  or  make 
the  case  more  telling,  while  a  few 
additional  features  are  thrown  in  at 
the  suggestion  of  the  hanger-on  of 
the  Court,  who  has,  *for  a  considersi- 
tion,'  drawn  up  the  petition.  In 
some  there  will  be  a  curious  inter- 
weaving of  truth  and  falsehood,  of 
fact  and  fiction,  as  when — to  take  a 
constantly  recurring  instance  —  a 
trifling  assault  is  magnified  into 
robbery  with  violence.  Others, 
again,  are  a  tissue  of  malignant 
lies  from  beginning  to  end.  It  is 
astounding  and  almost  inconceiv- 
able to  what  lengths  of  abominable 
villainy  a  feeling  of  spite,  engendered 
by  some  most  trivial  dispute,  will 
lead  a  man.  He  will,  without  the 
slightest  compunction — I  may  say, 
indeed,  with  the  most  fiendish  de- 
light— move  heaven  and  earth  to 
get  another,  at  whose  hands  he  fan- 
cies he  has  received  some  injury, 
into  gaol  —  ay,  if  he  can,  to  get 
him  hanged. 


DaUy  Worh  in  a  North^West  District, 


Amongst  the  thronging  crowd  a 
ghastly  apparition,  maybe,  suddenly 
meets  the  eye.  With  frantic  ges- 
ticulations and  loud  cries  for  jus- 
tice, a  well-nigh  naked  figure  presses 
forward,  his  head  uncovered,  his 
hair  dishevelled,  his  face,  body,  and 
clothes  (the  latter  carried  in  the 
hand,  and  spread  out  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  the  Court)  all  well  smeared 
with  blood,  the  greater  part  of  which, 
it  is  to  be  remarked,  never  flowed 
in  the  veins  of  the  biped  animal. 
He  is  requested  to  put  on  a  more 
respectable  guise,  and  when  he  re- 
turns a  few  minutes  later,  washed, 
clothed,  and  in  a  more  sober  frame 
of  mind,  his  complaint  is  heard. 
Probably  there  is  but  the  faintest 
trace  of' a  scratch  to  be  seen,  and 
that  self-inflicted,  or,  at  any  rate, 
he  has  but  received  a  slight  blow  in 
some  quarrel  that  he  himself  pro- 

Not  that  these  neighbourly 
qaarrels  are  always  of  a  trifling 
character,  however;  indeed,  their 
results  are  often  serious  enough. 
A  native,  whatever  his  occupation, 
and  whether  at  work  or  at  leisure, 
is  scarcely  ever  without  his  lathi, 
a  staff*  of  bamboo  some  5  or  6  feet 
long,  and  sometimes  encircled  with 
brass  or  iron  bands.  If  not  carried 
in  the  hand,  it  is  sure  to  be  lying 
close  by,  ready  to  be  caught  up  at 
any  moment,  and  it  is  a  weapon 
that,  wielded  with  effect,  will  cause 
instant  death.  The  most  frequent 
cases  of  homicide  before  the  Courts 
are  brought  about  by  its  sudden 
use  in  some  petty  village  squabble, 
beginning  probably  in  mere  bad 
language,  at  which  the  natives  are 
such  great  adepts.  As  soon  as  the 
first  blow  is  struck  the  relatives  on 
either  side  join  in  with  their  quar- 
terstaves,  and  unless  the  police  are 
at  hand  to  stop  it  the  affray  goes  on 
until  perhaps  some  one  of  the  party 
is  killed,  and  several  others  are  se- 
verely injured. 

Amongst  the  charges  there  is 
pretty  sure  to  be  at  least  one  speci- 

men of  a  class  of  cases  peculiar  to 
the  Indian  Courts.  An  outraged 
husband  complains  that  his  wife 
has  been  illicitly  enticed  from  her 
home.  This,  under  the  Indian  Penal 
Code,  is  a  criminal  offence,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  assaults,  there 
is  no  charge  that  appears  so  fre- 
quently in  the  up  country  courts  as 
this.  In  a  country  where  the  chi- 
valrous feelings  towards  women 
that  the  course  of  Western  civilL<?a- 
tion  has  engendered  are  utterly  ud- 
known,  where  the  words  of  Schiller, 

Ehret  die  Frauen  !  sie  flechten  und  weben 
Himmlische  Eosen  ins  irdische  Leben. 

would  find  no  responsive  echo  in 
the  heart;  where  women  are  re- 
garded merely  as  necessary  append- 
ages to  the  household,  of  about  as 
much  value  and  with  much  the  same 
intellectual  capacity  as  the  mill- 
stones at  which  they  are  set  to 
g^ind ;  where  they  are  married  in 
earliest  in&ncy  to  boy-husbands 
of  their  parents*  choosing;  where 
wives  are  bartered  or  sold  for  less 
than  the  cost  of  an  ox  (a  sum  of 
forty  shillings  will,  amongst  some 
of  the  lowest  castes,  buy  a  wife  of 
whom  her  husband  has  grown  tired): 
in  such  a  country  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  the  bands  of  con- 
jugal affection  are  tied  but  loosely. 
And  that  there  does  exist  a  great 
laxity  of  morals  cannot  be  denied. 
But  at  the  same  time  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned, whether  even  under  the  de- 
basing conditions  of  married  life  in 
the  East,  and  the  resulting  predis- 
position to  temptation,  the  women 
of  India  are  a  wlnt  worse  than  those 
of  some  European  countries  boast- 
ing of  superior  enlightenment  and 
blessed  with  safeguards  of  more 
restraining  power.  And  in  faii*ness 
it  must  be  allowed,  that  the  propor- 
tion of  bond  fide  cases  of  this  kind 
is  extremely  small — hy  far  the 
greater  number  resting  upon  no  real 
basis  of  &ct. 

The    hearing    of  criminal  cases 
now  claims  attention,  and  this  gene- 


Daily  Work  in  a  North-West  District, 


rsUj  occupies  the  greater  part  of 
the  day.    It  is  tmnecessary  to  enu- 
merate the  offences  that  come  before 
the  Court;    they    are    of    every 
descriptioD,   comprising     all    that 
are  familiar   to   ns    in    onr    own 
police  Courts,  together  with  many 
otheis  that  the  Lidian  Penal  Code 
has  first  included  in  the  catalogue 
of  crimes.    The  comprehensiveness 
of  tbiB  code,  notwithstanding  its  ad- 
mirable character    (and  had  Lord 
Macaulaj  left  no   other  memorial 
behind,  this  alone  would  have  borne 
ample  testimony  to  bis  great  genius) 
has  made  it  very  obnoxious  to  the 
people.    The  rights  of  persons  and 
property  are  too  jealously  guarded 
by  the  code  for  it  to  meet  with  un- 
qualified approval  from  the  natives, 
who  are  somewhat  too  prone  to  con- 
stitate  themselves    the  judges    of 
right  and  wrong,  and  are  peculiarly 
apt  to  ignore  their  neighbours'  inte- 
rests in  the  pursuit  of  their  own. 
According  to  their   character  and 
degree,  the  cases  are  either  disposed 
of  by  the  magistrates  themselves 
or  committed  to  the  Sessions ;  the 
lai^r  number  never  go  beyond  the 
lover  Courts,  for  a  magistrate,  with 
vbat  are  called  '  full  powers,'  can 
award  a  sentence  of  as  much  as  two 
years'  imprisonment  with  hard  la- 
bom*  and  a  heavy  fine,  or  in  default  an 
additional  sixmonths'  imprisonment. 
The  hearing  of  cases  is  now-a- 
days  conducted   in  a  much  more 
(satisfactory  manner  than  it  used  to 
be.    Going  into  a  Court  formerly, 
you  would  see  a  number  of  natives 
squatting  about  the  room  in  groups 
of  two,  4e  component  parts  of  each 
apparently  in  amicable  converse,  or 
^ther,  one  of  them  clad  in  white 
8?itb  inkhom  by  bis  side  and  paper 
>n  his  knee,  endeavouring  to  elicit 
Tom  his  companion — evidently  of 
lumbler  position,    and    from    his 
'oarse  clothing  and  nasal  patois,  re- 
'Ognisahle  as  a  village  cultivator — 
»rtain  information,  whidi  the  lat- 
er imparts  more  by  grunts  and 
[estures  than  by  intelligible  articu- 

lation. The  one  is  the  Cutcherry 
clerk,  the  other  a  witness,  and  in 
this  fashion  not  many  years  since, 
it  was  the  custom  to  take  evidence 
that  might  bring  a  man  to  the 
gallows  or  consign  him  to  a  long 
term  of  imprisonment.  There  was 
this  advantage  about  it,  that  it  saved 
time,  for  half-a-dozen  depositions 
could  be  taken  at  once,  and  several 
cases,  in  fact,  be  heard  simulta- 
neously, and  the  magistrate's  work 
was  much  simplified  by  this  ar- 
rangement. While  the  evidence 
was  being  recorded  he  was  able  to 
get  through  a  large  mass  of  other 
work;  then,  when  the  half-dozen 
cases  were  prepared,  the  depositions 
were  hurriedly  read  over  to  him 
and  attested  by  the  several  wit- 
nesses, who  most  probably  did  not 
understand  a  word  of  what  was 
written  down,  for  in  those  days  the 
Court  language  was  an  abominable 
compound  of  Hindustani  and  Per- 
sian intelligible  only  to  the  initiated. 
Certainly  an  experienced  magistrate 
would  elicit  a  good  deal  of  truth  by 
a  few  searching  questions ;  but  the 
incalculable  advantage  of  cross-ex- 
amination at  the  very  time  was  lost, 
and  the  opportunity  of  observing 
the  witness's  demeanour — an  all- 
important  point  in  gaining  a  clue  to 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  native  evi- 
dence— was  altogether  gone,  while 
further,  there  was  no  guarantee  that 
the  native  clerk  had  not  put  into 
the  witness's  mouth  words  con- 
veying a  very  different  meaning 
from  what  he  had  actually  intended. 
However,  bad  as  the  old  procedure 
was  in  this  respect,  the  Indian 
Courts  would  seem  after  all  not  to 
have  been  so  far  behind  the  age,  if 
we  may  judge  from  recent  revela- 
tions as  to  the  mode  in  which  affi- 
davits are  prepared  for  use  in  the 
Courts  of  Chancery.  I  doubt  whe- 
ther cross-examination  of  the  wit- 
nesses would  ever  have  elicited  such 
wholesale  repudiation  of  their  writ- 
ten statements  as  we  lately  saw  in 
the  Tichbome  case. 


Daily  Work  in  a  North-  West  District, 


In  the  work  of  judicial  investiga- 
tion  the  Indian  magistrate  labours 
under  yevy  great  disadvantages  as 
compared  with  his  compeer  on  the 
English  bench.  The  most  serious 
of  these  —  the  one  that  makes 
judicial  work  in  India  so  pre-emi- 
nently disheartening,  and  makes 
the  burden  of  responsibility  weigh 
so  heavily — arises  from  the  inherent 
predisposition  to  lying,  which  is  so 
remarkable,  and  apparently  so  in- 
eradicable a  characteristic  of  the 
native  mind.  A  magistrate  in  this 
country  feels  tolerably  safe  in  ac- 
cepting as  substantially  true  the 
evidence  of  the  witness  who  comes 
before  him ;  he  regards  it  as 
prima  facie  trustworthy  and  enti- 
tled to  credit.  But  the  Indian 
magistrate  from  the  outset  is  in- 
clined to  disbelieve  the  statement 
made  to  him,  or  at  least  to  suspect 
it ;  there  is  no  hypothesis  to  start 
with  that  the  man  is  speaking  the 
truth.  In  England  a  man  will  not 
readily  or  gratuitously  perjure  him- 
Belf ;  there  must  be  a  motive  of  some 
considerable  power  to  induce  him  to 
do  so.  But  to  the  naiive  lying  is 
natural ;  it  causes  no  qualms  of  con- 
science, and  for  the  smallest  con- 
sideration he  will  sweax  away  his 
neighbour's  property  or  liberty.  And 
unfortunately,  from  the  difficulty 
of  proving  the  crime  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  higher  Courts,  the  per- 
jurer plies  his  trade  almost  with 
impunity.  The  multitudinous  files 
of  cases  that  lie  packed  on  the 
shelves  are  wellnigh  as  full  of  false 
oaths  as  they  can  hold,  but  convic- 
tions for  perjury  are  very  few  and 
far  between.  Not  once  in  five  hun- 
dred cases  does  retributive  justice 
mark  down  her  prey ;  there  is  here 
no  pretence  of  sureness  even  to 
compensate  for  the  limping  foot. 
Unfortunately  also,  the  prescribed 
form  of  oath,  which  is  merely  an 
affirmation  that  the  truth  shall  be 
spoken  as  in  the  presence  of  God, 
has  not  the  slightest  deterrent  in- 
fluence for  the  native.     It   in   no 

way  appeals  to  his  superstitions,  his 
desires,  or  his  fears,  and  is  alto* 
gether  devoid  of  the  solemn  effect 
that  the  oath  of  our  own  Courts  has 
upon  the  mind  of  an  EnglishmaiL 
Formerly  it  was  the  custom  to  swear 
Hindus  upon  the  Ganges'  water,  and 
Masalmans  upon  the  Kuran.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  reasons  for 
a  change,  the  influence  of  the  oath 
has,  if  anything,  been  lessened  hy 
it.  The  old  forms  at  any  rate  gave 
a  religious  sanction  to  the  oath, 
but  the  present  affirmation  is  alto- 
gether valueless  as  a  safeguard 
The  fear  of  punishment  is,  in  feet. 
the  sole  influence  that  remains  to 
deter  men  who  have  any  object  to 
gain  by  perjury  from  committing  it, 
and  since  the  force  of  this  one  infls- 
ence  is,  as  I  have  stated,  reduced  to  a 
minimum,  there  is  pi'acticallv  no 
restraint  at  all.  Another  great  dis- 
advantage that  Indian  magistrates 
labour  under  is,  that  fchey  have  nottk 
assistance  afibrded  by  the  pleading? 
and  cross-examinations  of  able  coun- 
sel. Certainly  there  are  native  plead- 
ers attached  to  all  the  Courts,  bat,  as 
a  rule,  they  are  men  of  veiy  shgk 
ability,  and  especially  deficient  is 
the  art  of  effective  cross-examina- 
tion, while  the  men  who  plead  m 
the  inferior  Courts  are  of  the  lowe>: 
pettifogging  class,  who  so  long  as 
they  further  their  client's  interest* 
care  little  how  it  is  done,  men  who, 
acting  up  to  the  motto  *  Si  possi:?, 
recte;  si  non,  quocunque  modo,'  vl 
not  only  connive  at  the  productii-:! 
of  forged  documents,  but  will  even 
suggest  their  forgery.  In  general. 
the  attorneys  who  frequent  the  Ma- 
gisterial and  Revenue  Courts  are 
simply  obstructive  to  work.  The 
magistrate  will  in  vain  look  to  them 
for  assistance;  the  full  respon?i- 
bility  devolves  upon  himself.  H^ 
is  both  judge  and  jury,  and  in  addi- 
tion, he  has  to  act  as  counsel  hotli 
for  the  prosecution  and  for  the  de- 
fence, and  to  see  that  the  interests 
of  neither  side  are  in  any  point 
overlooked.     And  to  a  considerable 


Daily  Work  in  a  North- West  District, 


extent  also — however  anomalous 
and  ill-accordant  with  English  ideas 
itmajseem — his  fonctions  approach 
very  closely  to  those  of  a  public 
prosecutor,  for  whether  as  a  Revenue 
officer,  or  as  the  Head  of  the  Police, 
it  is  his  datj  to  see  that  the  laws 
are  not  violated  with  impunity,  or 
Government  defirauded  of  its  due, 
and  to  bring  all  offenders  to  punish- 

But  the  cinlian's  judicial  duties 
are  not  yet  over  for  the  day.  In 
his  capacity  of  collector  he  is 
civil  jndge,  having  primary  juris- 
diction in  all  agrarian  disputes 
between  the  landed  proprietors  and 
their  tenant  cultivators,  or  between 
the  various  co-sharers  in  the  vil- 
lage estate.  The  Revenue  Courts 
adjudicate  in  such  matters  as  the 
fuUowing, — suits  by  landlords  for 
arrears  of  rent, — for  the  ejectment 
of  tenants  for  default,  or  breach  of 
the  conditions  of  their  leases, — for 
enhancement  of  rent; — ^suits  by  ten- 
ants to  contest  enhancements, — 
ejectment,  or  illegal  distraint  of  pro- 
dace, — and  to  recover  damages  for 
extortion  of  more  rent  than  is  legi- 
timately due ; — suits  by  the  head 
proprietor  in  the  village  to  recover 
from  the  subordinate  owners  any 
sums  he  may  have  advanced  on 
their  behalf  in  payment  of  the 
revenue  demand, — ^and  lastly,  suits 
hythe  subordinate  sharees  against 
the  head  proprietor  for  their  shares 
of  the  profits  of  the  estate.  There 
is,  if  anything,  a  greater  amount  of 
false  swearing  in  these  than  in  cri- 
minal cases.  It  is  a  very  rare 
occnrrence  for  a  claim  to  be  unde- 
fended. Of  course,  in  some  instan- 
ces the  parties  may  be  perfectly 
justified  in  joining  issue,  and  their 
contentions  may  afford  substantial 
gJwmd  for  legal  argument ;  but  in 
the  large  majority  of  cases,  the 
defence  consists  simply  of  a  direct 
traversing  of  the  allegations  con- 
tained in  the  statement  of  claim. 
Half.a-dozen  witnesses  on  the  one 
side  depose   to  certain  facta,  and 

half-a-dozen  witnesses  on  the  other 
unequivocally  contradict  them. 
Forged  documents  are  unblushingly 
produced  in  proof,  evidence  is 
bought  wholesale,  and  all  that 
chicanery  can  do  to  bolster  up  a 
fraudulent  claim,  or  to  rebut  a  true 
one,  is  done.  The  large  mass  of 
litigation  in  the  Revenue  Courts  is 
simply  the  result  of  violent  quar- 
rels between  the  proprietors  and 
their  tenants,  or  between  the  co- 
proprietors  themselves.  So  long 
as  matters  go  on  amicably  in  the 
village,  and  unanimity  prevails^ 
there  is  no  litigation  at  all.  Hun- 
dreds of  villages  from  one  year's  end 
to  another,  furnish  no  suits  at  all. 
But  let  the  subject  of  discord  once 
enter  a  village,  and  litigation  is 
endless.  A  specially  productive 
cause  of  these  embittering  feuds 
is  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger  into 
the  proprietary  body — an  occur- 
rence frequent  enough  now-a-days. 
We  have  of  late  years  heard  a  great 
deal  in  praise  of  peasant-proprietor- 
ship, but  one's  experience  of  it,  as 
it  obtains  in  India,  scarcely  tends 
to  an  unqualified  acceptance  of  the 
idea  that  it  is  such  a  happy,  para- 
disaical system,  as  it  has  been 
represented.  There  can  be  little 
denial  of  this  one  fact  at  any  rate, 
that  where  population  steadily  in- 
creases, and  the  custom  of  equal 
inheritance  prevails,  the  minute 
subdivision  of  land,  which  is  the 
natural  result  of  peasant-pro- 
prietorship, must  tend  to  reduce 
the  landowners  to  one  uniform 
level  of  pauperism,  and  lead  to  the 
gradual  extinction  of  agricultural 
capital.  And  so  it  is  in  the  north 
western  provinces.  The  mass  of 
landowners  cannot  construct  even 
a  small  well,  an  essential  of  cultiva- 
tion, at  a  mere  cost  of  £40  (or  £50 
without  borrowing  the  money  from 
the  state  or  the  money-lender, 
while  a  single  bad  season  will  ren- 
der them  in  all  probability  utter- 
ly unable  to  meet  the  revenue 
demand,   or  settle   their  banker's 


Daily  Work  in  a  North- West  District. 


account — for  scarcely  a  proprietor 
in  the  whole  North- West  can  boast 
of  that  necessary  ingredient  of  happi- 
ness, the  being  ^solutus  omnifcenore.* 
And  thus  it  is  that  the  old  pro- 
prietors— at  least  in  estates  which 
are  minutely  subdivided — are  gradu- 
ally being  supplanted  by  a  new 
cla^s  of  men,  chiefly  money-lenders 
and  traders  of  the  wealthier  sort. 
A  man  of  this  sort  we  will  sup- 
pose— some 

Foenerator  Alfius 
Jam,  jam  futorua  rusticus — 

has  purchased  a  small  share  that 
default  of  payment  of  the  revenue 
upon  it,  or  decree  of  the  Civil 
Court  has  brought  to  the  hammer, 
and  has  thrust  himself  into  the 
sacred  circle  of  the  brotherhood. 
He  very  soon  finds  out  to  his  cost 
that  he  would  have  acted  far  more 
wisely  had  he  stuck  to  his*money- 
bags  and  ledgers,  and  resisted  the 
false  seductions  of  a  bucolic  life. 
The  old  proprietors — the  brothers, 
uncles,  nephews,  or  cousins  of  the 
bankrupt — are  banded  to  a  man 
against  the  intruder,  and  do  their 
best — and  their  worst — to  thwart 
him  at  every  turn.  The  tenants 
too,  are  employed  as  a  powerful 
engine  of  oppression  and  annoyance, 
and  are  set  to  oppose  and  injure 
him  in  all  the  numerous  ways  that 
their  relations  to  him  suggest,  or 
that  native  ingenuity  can  devise. 
He  is  driven  to  the  Court,  before 
he  can  realise  a  single  farthing  of 
his  dues,  and  there,  unable  to  secure 
a  scrap  of  evidence  on  his  own  side, 
he  has  to  contend  against  such  an 
amount  of  hard  swearing,  forgery, 
and  trickery  of  every  kind  that 
success  is  a  most  uncertain  chance. 
If  by  good  luck  he  gains  a  victory 
in  the  Court  of  First  Instance,  he  is 
virulently  pursued  into  the  Appel- 
late Courts,  probably  as  far  as  the 
Privy  Council  itself,  with  very  little 
hope  of  ever  regaining  his  costs, 
even  if  they  are  awarded  to  him. 
In  such  a  contest  at^  amicable  ad- 

justment is  altogether  hopeless; 
with  each  succeeding  tussle  the 
mutual  hatred  strikes  deeper  root, 
and  reconciliation  becomes  more 
impossible.  In  the  end  the  rash 
infaTider  may  reckon  himself  for- 
tunate, if  he  escapes  still  fouler  ma- 
chinations, for  the  majority  of  the 
cowardly  murders  that  are  so  fre- 
quent in  India  have  their  origin  in 
agrarian  disputes. 

Following  upon  the  revenue  case 
work,  there  will  in  all  probability 
be  several  objections  to  Income  Tax 
assessments  set  down  for  hearing. 
This  tax,  the  dernier  ressort  of  finan- 
ciers at  their  wits'  end  how  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  has  vastly  increased 
the  pressure  upon  the  collector's 
time,  and  perhaps  there  is  no  work 
that  is  so  thoroughly  distasteful  to 
him — ^and  for  this  reason,  that  he 
well  knows  that  not  only  is  the  tax 
hateftil  to  the  whole  mass  of  the 
people,  rich  and  poor  alike,  but 
also  that  under  present  conditions 
it  is  unavoidably  an  oppressive  tax ; 
it  is  to  a  great  extent  evaded  by 
the  wealthier,  while  it  presses  most 
heavily  upon  the  poorer  classes. 
That  it  is  oppressive  is  in  part  due 
to  the  parsimony  of  Government  in 
the  matter  of  the  establishments 
allowed  for  the  work  of  assessment, 
and  in  part  to  the  range  of  the  tax 
being  extended  to  incomes  of  too 
low  a  value,  while  again  to  no  in- 
considerable extent  it  is  the  fiftult 
of  the  people  themselves,  being  the 
natural  result  of  the  difficulty,  I 
may  almost  say  the  impossibility  of 
accurately  gauging  the  incomes  of 
the  middle  classes,  and  the  little 
reliance  that  can  be  placed  upon 
any  statement  of  their  own  regard- 
ing their  profits.  From  this  latter 
cause  it  has  continually  happened 
that  the  wealthier  merchants  and 
bankers  have  escaped  with  a  far 
lighter  assessment  than  they  shonld 
have  borne,  while  many  of  the 
poorer  traders  and  handicraftsmen 
have  been  called  upon  to  pay 
amounts  which  even  the  sale  of  all 


Daily  Work  in  a  North-West  District, 


their  household  goods  has  failed  to 
r&ihe.     The   Incame    Taz    is    a 
grievous   thorn  in  the   collector's 
side.    Government  is  a  stern  task- 
master, and  peculiarly  sensitive  on 
the  subject  of  deficiency  of  revenue, 
and  if  the  anticipated  tale  of  rupees 
is  not  forthcoming  to  the  full,  he  is 
called  to  strict  account.     But  I  fear 
the  incubus  of  the  tax  will  not  be 
readily  shaken  off.     At  any  rate  it 
is  likely  to  cling  to  India  as  long  as 
the  taxation  of  the  country  is  regu- 
lated by  amateur  financiers.     AxA 
a   statesmanlike    financier  is    not 
easily  met  with.     Nascitur  nan  fit, 
2\s  the  poet '  lisps  in  numbers,'  so 
the  true  master   of  finance    must 
have  a  special  genius  for  the  work. 
India  certainly  cannot  boast  of  pos- 
sessing one  {kt  present.     The  later 
mails  seem  to  hold  out  to  us  a  hope 
that,  under  the  auspices   of  Lord 
Xorthbrook,    India    may    gain    at 
least  a  temporary  relief  from  the  In- 
come Tax.     Should   this  he  so,  it 
will  indeed  be  a  matter  for  hearty 
congratulation,  and  one  great  source 
of  heartburning  and  discontent  will 
be  removed* 

I  fear  I  have  already  tried  the 
reader's  patience  severely,  and  I 
must  content  myself  with  merely 
a  passing  glance  at  the  remainder 
of  the  day's  -work.  But  there  is 
still  a  good  deal  to  be  done.  The 
Senshtadar  commences  to  read 
aloud  from  a  huge  pile  of  papers 
that  lie  at  his  side,  each  of  them 
representing  some  stage  of  progress 
in  matters  connected  with  the  in- 
ternal economy  of  the  district.  And 
this  Ls  a  portion  of  work  that  does 
not  admit  of  being  hurried  over,  or 
disposed  of  in  a  perfunctory  manner; 
indeed,  upon  the  degree  of  abihty 
and  conscientiousness  shown  in  its 
performance,  far  more  than  upon 
the  passing  of  legal  decisions,  de- 
pends a  collector's  success  in 
securing  what,  as  the  great  test  of 
administrative  capacity,  it  should 
be  his  chief  aim  to  secure — the 
financial  prosperity  of  his  district, 

combined  with  the  happiness,  con- 
tentment, and  loyalty  of  the  people. 
Unfortunately  for  the  interest  which 
might  be  taken  in  most  of  this 
work,  all  the  proceedings  are  pre- 
pared in  Hindustani,  and  apart  from 
the  additional  mental  effort  required 
for  understanding  a  complicated 
case  under  these  conditions,  the 
hstening  to  the  singsong  of  a  native 
reader  is  about  the  dreariest  and 
most  sleep-inducing  occupation  that 
could  well  be  conceived.  This 
dreariness  reaches  its  climax  with 
the  reading  out  of  the  poHce  papers 
— the  daily  reports  of  crimes,  and 
the  records  of  investigations  in  par- 
ticular cases — which,  in  themselves 
are  the  most  unpalatable  stuff"  pos- 
sible, and  for  that  reason  arQ  gener- 
ally left  to  the  last.  While  these 
are  being  gabbled  through  the 
magistrate  is  busily  engaged  in 
signing  the  vast  heap  of  papers  that 
represent  the  results  of  the  day's 
work  throughout  the  office,  and  this 
over,  the  labours  of  cutcherry  are 
ended. — ^And  my  task  is  ended  also. 
This  sketch  has  been  necessarily 
a  veiy  imperfect  one;  but  enough 
has,  I  trust,  been  written  to 
show  that  an  Indian  civilian's  life 
is  very  far  from  being  a  Hfe  of  idle- 
ness. And  his  work  is  rendered 
none  the  lighter  or  pleasanter  by 
the  conditions  under  which  it  has  to 
be  performed  during  the  greaterjpart 
of  the  year — closely  shut  up  perhaps 
in  a  stifling  room,  gloomy  with  the 
accumulated  dust  of  years,  reeking 
with  the  unfragrant  odours  of  a 
crowd  of  natives,  and  oppressive 
with  wellnigh  loo  degrees  of  un- 
mitigated sweltering  heat.  And 
day  after  day  the  same  weary  grind 
goes  on.  True,  there  are  intermit- 
tent times  of  rest,  on  the  occurrence 
of  some  Hindd  or  Masalman  festi- 
val, but  holidays  are  after  all  a  mere 
delusion,  for  the  criminal  classes  are 
if  anything  more  active  on  these 
days,  and  the  only  result  of  a  holi- 
day is  that  arrears  accumulate,  and 
the  next  day's  work  is  doubled. 


Daily  Work  in  a  Noiih-West  District, 


But  the  rest  that  follows  immedi- 
ately upon  the  close  of  the  harassing 
toil  of  the  day  is  indeed  delicious, 
and  this  is  the  only  time  that  the 
civilian  can  count  upon  for  thorough 
recreation.  The  evening,  perhaps, 
may  find  him  again  hard  at  work, 
engaged  in  important  correspon- 
dence, or  in  preparing  judgments 
which  pressure  of  work  has  hindered 
him  from  writing  in  Court,  but  for 
the  present  he  may  freely  enjoy  his 
brief  and  hard  earned  leisure.     And 

now  having  accompanied  him 
through  the  arduous  duties  of  the 
day,  we  will  take  our  leave  of  him, 
as  he  quits  cutcherry  and  repairs 
in  haste  to  the  racquet  court,  or 
cricket  ground  to  clear  away  with 
a  little  vigorous  exercise  and  pleasant 
society  some  of  the  miasma  that 
have  accumulated  in  his  brain, 
and  to  disencumber  his  mind  for  a 
time  of  the  cares  and  anxieties 
which  are  inevitably  connected  with 
the  responsible  nature  of  his  work. 




THE  prospects  commanded  from 
some  of  the  border  heights  of 
Dartmoor,-— such  for  example  as 
Cawsand  and  Bnckland  beacons,  or 
as  Heytor, — are  exceeded  in  interest 
and  yariety  by  none  in  England. 
The  gteai  Yorkshire  scenes,  those 
over  which  the  eye  ranges  fiom  the 
Hambledon  hills  or  from  the  long 
ridges  that  bound  the  western  side 
of  the  Vale  of  Mowbray,  may  pos- 
sihlj  he  more  extensive;  but  they 
are  without  the  feature  which  gives 
an  especial  character  to  the  Dart- 
moor views— the  wide,  fer-stretch-i 
ing  line  of  sea-board.  From  the 
outer  heights  of  Cleveland  indeed 
yon  may  look  down  on  Whitby  and 
the  rains  of  the 

cloistered  pile 
Where  holy  Hilda  prayed, 

bat  this  is  a  Tery  different  scene. 
From  Heytor,  beyond  a  vast  and 
varied  tract  of  country,  we  com- 
mand nearly  the  whole  of  what  is 
known  as  the  *  Great  Western  bay,' 
extending  from  Portland  on  the 
east  to  Berry  Head  on  the  west. 
Along  the  coast  are  dotted  towns 
and  villages  which  rank  among  the 
most  ancient  settlements  in  Britain, 
and  which  may  well  have  been 
fonnded  by  the  primitiTe  tin-workers 
whose  rude  stone  monuments  still 
lie  among  the  heather  at  our  feet. 
The  long  estuary  of  the  Exe,  stretch- 
ing inhmd  to  Exeter,  the  city  and 
stronghold  of  Britons^  Romans,  and 
English  in  succession ;  and  the  nar- 
rower opening  of  the  Dart,  winding 
between  woods  and  green  hills  to- 
wards Totness,  the  traditional  land- 
ing place  of  the  legendary  Brutus 
of  Troy, — are  easily  distinguished, 
and  CMTy  us  fiurback  into  an  older 
world,  suggesting  a  crowd  of  bis- 
torical  recollections.  Heytor  com- 
VOL.  yn.— Ko.  mvni.  hew  sbbibs. 

mands  the  sea-line  and  the  settle- 
ments connected  with  the  earliest 
history  of  what  is  now  Devonshire. 
The  south-western  heights  of 
Dartmoor  overlook  a  scene  of  which 
the  landscape  displays  similar  fea- 
tures, but  where  the  associations  are 
of  a  somewhat  different  chajracter. 
We  are  still  vnthin  sight  of  harbours 
not  unknown  to  ancient  history  or 
legend ;  but  the  object  which  most 
sirongly  attracts  us  is  the,  town  of 
Plymouth,  fillings  with  its  sisters, 
Devonport  and  Stonehouse,  the 
landward  side  of  the  harbour,  and 
bounded  by  the  estuaries  of  the  Plym 
and  the  Tamar,  with  their  forests  of 
masts.  There  is  something  in  the 
view  of  a  great  tovm,  and  especially 
of  a  great  seaport,  thus  seen  from 
a  moorland  height,  which  in  no  or- 
dinary degree  impresses  the  imagi. 
nation.  The  stiUness  which  sur- 
rounds us,  the  broken  rock  and  the 
stretches  of  fern  and  heather  which 
make  up  the  nearer  scene,  contrast 
finely  with  the  distant  evidences 
of  long-continued  work  and  diuly 
labour,  with  the  noise  and  the  street 
tumult  which  we  know,  but  cannot 
hear,  are  filling  the  air  above  the 
&r-off  haven.  It  is  frt>m  such  a 
point  too,  more  perhaps  than  when 
actually  within  its  waUs,  that  we 
feel  inclined  to  pass  in  review  the 
history  and  the  fortunes  of  the  town 
before  us.  There  it  lies  in  the  dis- 
tance, stretching  itself  over  plain 
and  rising  ground,  its  walls  and 
roofs  glancing  in  the  sunliffht,  vnth 
many  a  tower  and  spire  breaking 
upward  from  the  vast  mass  of  build- 
ings. About  it  are  all  the  evidences 
of  vigorous  life  and  activity.  But 
what  is  the  story  of  its  past  years, 
and  how  is  that  connected  with 
the  wider  story  of  England  ?  The 
most  modem  town  suggests  such 





qnestions  as  these ;  &r  more  sach  a 
town  as  Pljmoatli,  which  althongh 
it  cannot  claim  an  antiqnitj  equal 
to  that  of  Exeter  or  Totness,  is 
nevertheless  no  new  creation,  and 
is  surrounded  by  such  natural 
scenery  as  would  heighten  an  in- 
terest deriyed  from  historical  asso- 
ciations &r  less  exciting  than  those 
which  in  &ct  belong  to  it.  We 
may  look  seaward  between  the  red- 
stemmed  pines  of  Mount  Edgcumbe 
and  remember  the  Armada ;  or  land- 
ward from  Bovisand,  and  see  in  ima- 
gination the  town  shut  in  by  the 
forces  of  Prince  Maurice,  with  rival 
forts  and  sconces  sending  pufis  of 
white  smoke  (and  something  more) 
at  each  other  from  their  opposite 
hills.  The  Dartmoor  scene  is  grand 
and  suggestive.  That  from  the  har- 
l>our  is  surely  not  less  so.  There  is 
probably  no  English  port  of  which, 
nnder  favourable  circumstances, 
the  appearance  is  more  striking  to 
a  foreigner  on  his  first  arrival  in 
this  country. 

The  main  outlines  can  have 
changed  but  little  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  historical  lera.  The 
rocks  of  the  old  Devonian  series — 
slates,  limestones,  and  sandstones — 
which  extend  along  tiiis  coast  are 
slowly  worn  by  the  sea ;  and  Greek 
and  Phoenician  traders  (if  they  in- 
deed ventured  into  the  stormy  west- 
em  ocean)  must  have  looked  on  the 
uMune  deep  bay  that  we  see  at  present, 
with  the  same  heights  and  headlands 
guarding  and  backing  it.  But  it 
must  then  have  been  in  truth  a  '  si- 
lent sea ; '  and  the  protecting  hills, 
covered  with  furso  and  brushwood, 
and  intersected  by  deep  marshes, 
the  haunt  of  numberless  wild  fowl, 
can  har6  shown  few  if  any  signs  of 
human  life  or  habitation.  At  a 
much  later  period  there  is  reason  to 
believe  that  one  of  the  emporia  for 
the  tin  of  the  Devonshire  moorlands 
was  established  here.    No  Oreek  or 

Oriental  coins  have  been  found,  such 
as  have  been  discovered  at  Exeter ; 
and  no  ingots  of  tin,  such  ashavebeen 
dredged  from  the  mud  of  Mount's 
Bay.  But  within  the  last  few  years, 
in  digging  foundations  for  the  fort 
of  Mount  Stamford,  above  Oreston, 
on  the  south  side  of  the  inner  har- 
bour, a  cemetery  of  considerable  ex- 
tent  was  discovered,  to  all  appear- 
ance late  Celtic,  and  indicating  a 
settlement  of  some  importance. 
Bronze  mirrors,  bracelets,  cups,  and 
fibuliB,  fragments  of  glass  and  pot- 
tery, and  some  much  decayed  iron 
implements  were  found  in  the 
graves,  which  were  hollowed  in  the 
slaiy  rock,  and  filled  in — ^perhaps 
at  first  lined — ^with  blocks  of  the 
neighbouring  limestone.^  These, 
however,  are  traces  of  a  time  before 
the  first  legionaries  had  appeared 
among  the  western  hills.  There 
was  no  Roman  settlement  where 
Plymouth  now  stands.  A  line  of 
British  road,  which  was  cared  for 
in  Roman  days,  stad  became  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  Ikenild  Way,  ran 
from  Exeter  by  Totness  to  the  Ta- 
mar ;  but  it  passed  far  at  the  back 
of  Plymouth  Sound,  and  the  little 
station  of  Tamara  is  in  all  proba- 
bility to  be  identified  with  Eling's 
Tamerton,  on  a  hill  above  the  river, 
where  there  are  still  traces  of  a 
squared  entrenchment. 

The  older  and  perhaps  mercantile 
settlement  at  Stamford  *  hill  may 
have  been  frequented  by  those  Gallic 
traders  who,  as  we  are  told,  con- 
veyed British  tin  to  the  opposite 
coast ;  and  Tamara  had  the  import- 
ance of  a  Roman  station.  But 
neither  was  destined  to  become  the 
germ  of  Plymouth.  The  'nursing 
mother'  of  the  great  western  sea- 
port was  the  Augustinian  Priory  of 
Plympton,  which,  the  wealthiest  re- 
ligous  house  in  Devonshire,  rose 
in  the  midst  of  its  broad  green 
meadows  at  the  head  of  the  estuary. 

Thif  oemetffiiy  is  described  in  the  Arohmdogia,  voL  d« 




jjot  wbere  the  I4ym  ceases  to  be 
Dftvigable.    It  stood  on  the  line  of 
Boman    road — ^the  *  Ridgeway' — 
vhich  haa  already  been  mentioned ; 
and  a  castle  of  the  Dc  Bedvers',  the 
powerfol  Earls  of  Devon,  lifted  and 
sjtOI  lifbiitshigh  walled  mound  (there 
was  no  keep  tower)  close  beside  the 
Prioiy.    To  the  Priory  of  Plympton 
belonged  from  a  very  early  period, 
land  at  the  mouth  of  the  Plym  on 
which  stood  a  fishing  hamlet  known 
as  Sutton  Prior,  or  '  Sutton  (South- 
town)  jnzta  Plym-mouthe.*     There 
were  two  other  Sutton s,   held  by 
the  King  at  the  time  of  the  Dooms- 
day Survey,  and  afterwards  gpranted 
to  the  fiunilies  of  RaJf  and  Yalletort, 
by  whose  names  they  were  distin- 
^aished.     These    Suttons,  forming 
together  a  settlement  of  but  very 
small  extent^  had  arisen  some  time 
before  the  Conquest.     Sutton  Prior 
was  the  most  important ;  and  from 
it,  owing  to  the  care  with  which 
its  fisheries  were  watched  and  en- 
couraged by  the  monks  of  Plymp- 
ton, were  gradually  developed  the 
harbour    advantages    which    have 
created  the  existing  town,  and  have 
changed  Sutton — *  a  mene  thyng,  an 
inhabitation  of  fischars' — into   the 
far-extending    and   far-famed   Ply- 

The  Httle  hamlet  of  Sutton  lay 
crowded  round  the  harbour  of  Sut- 
ton Pool,  an  inlet  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Plym.  The  entrance  of  this 
'f^alph,'  as  Leland  calls  it,  was 
tniarded  by  strong  walls,  and  chains 
could  be  drawn  across  it '  in  tyme 
of  necessite.'  On  high  ground  above 
it  rose  the  Church  of  St.  Andrew, 
belonging,  like  the  greater  part  of 
Sutton  itself,  to  Plympton  Priory. 
West  of  the  harbour,  on  the  long 
hill  called  Wynrigge  (wind ridge?), 
was  the  Chapel  of  St.  Katherine, 
at  which  fishermen  and  sailors  were 
accostomed  to  make  oblations  aflor 
Wife  landing.  Wynrigge  is  the 
bill  now  so  weH  known  as  the  Hoe, 

a  word  found  elsewhere  in  Devon- 
shire, both  alone,  as  at  Dartmouth — 

Blow  the  wind  high  or  blow  it  low, 
It  bloweth  good  to  Hawl6y*s  Hoe— 

and  as  a  termination ;  and  signify- 
ing in  all  oases  an  elevated  ridge  or 
look-out  place.  It  is  probable  that 
the  name  was  always  applied  to 
some  part  of  the  Wynrigge ;  and 
it  is  here  that  we  find  the  only 
traces  which  directly  connect  Ply- 
mouth with  the  legendaiy  story  of 
Western  Britain.  On  the  green 
turf  of  the  Hoe  were  cut  two  enor- 
mous figures  representing  Cori- 
nsBus,  the  companion  of  Brutus  of 
Li  duk  syro  Corynco,  qui  coRfxuist  Come- 
wayle — 

and  the  great  giant  Goema^ot  with 
whom  he  fought,  and  whom  he 
hurled  into  the  sea  over  the  cliffs, 
thenceforth  reddened  with  the 
giant's  bloQd.  The  story  is  told  by  the 
'  veracious '  Geoffry  of  Monmouth. 
At  what  time  it  was  localised  on 
the  Plymouth  Hoc  is  uncertain. 
The  footprints  of  the  combatants, 
on  which  no  grass  would  grow, 
were  long  pointed  out  there;  and 
there  was  an  annual  '  scouring  *  of 
the  figures,  each  of  which  was 
armed  with  an  enormous  club. 
They  were  famous  in  Spenser's 
days,  who  may  himself  have  seen 
them  if  at  any  time  he  started  from 
Plymouth  on  his  way  to  Ireland; 
and  who  has  referred  to  them  in 
that  part  of  the  Faerie  Qveene  where 
he  records  the  early  history  of  Bri- 
tain and  the  arrival  of  Brutus : 

But  ere  he  had  established  his  throne, 
And  spread  his  empire  to  the  utmost 
He  fought  great  battles  with  his  salvage 
In  which  he  them  defeated  evermore. 
And  many  giants  left  isn  groning  flore ; 
That  well  can  witness  yet  unto  this  day 
The  Western  Hogh,  besprinkled  with 
the  gore 
Of  mighty  Gh>emot,  whome  in  stout  £cay 
Corineus  oonquer&d,  and  cruelly  did  slay.' 

*  Bk.  ii.  c.  10. 

Q  2 




The* Western  Hogb,*  therefore, 
can  have  been  no  unimportant  place 
in  the  earlier  days  of  Sutton ;  and 
the  legend  attached  to  it  may  indi- 
cate a  certain  connection  of  the 
place  with  the  older  haven  of  Dart- 
mouth, with  Totness,  the  landing 
place  of  Brutus,  and  perhaps  with 
the  opposite  shores  of  Brittany,  At 
any  rate  odc  of  the  earliest  notices 
of  Plymouth  as  a  harbour  records 
the  arrival  there,  in  1230,  of  the 
body  of  GKlbert  de  Clare,  the  mighty 
Earl  of  Gloucester  and  of  Hertford, 
who  died  at  Penrhos  in  Brittany. 
He  was  brought  across  the  sea  to 
*  Plummue,'  says  the  annalist  of 
Tewkesbury;  and  was  conveyed  with 
great  honour  and  a  vast  following 
through  Devonshire,  and  at  last  to 
Tewkesbury,  where  he  was  buried.' 
Gifts  were  made  to  the  religious 
houses  at  which  the  body  of  the  Earl 
rested  on  its  way — the  first  of  which 
was,  of  course,  the  Priory  of  Plymp- 

Until  the  year  1439,  when  the 
town — then  of  some  size,  and  be- 
coming famous  for  its  harbour — 
was  incorporated  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, the  Prior  was  the  Lord  of  Ply- 
mouth. Great  personages  arriving 
there,  whether  to  sail  from  its  port 
or  having  landed  at  it,  were  lodged 
in  the  stately  Priory.  In  1287  the 
Earl  of  Lancaster,  brother  of  Ed- 
ward I.,  sailed  from  Plymouth  with 
no  fewer  than  325  ships,  for  Guienne, 
and  no  doubt  rested  for  some  time 
in  the  guest  house  of  the  Canons. 
The  port  was  then  becoming  a 
favourite  point  of  departure  for 
Guienne  and  Southern  France ;  and 
in  the  days  of  the  Third  Edward, 
the  Black  Prince  on  several  occa- 
sions landed  at  and  departed  from 
Plymouth.  He  sailed  hence,  ac- 
companied by  the  Earls  of  War- 
wick, Suffolk,  Salisbury,  and  Ox- 
ford, in  1355,  hefore  the  campaign 
which  closed  with  the  battle   of 

Poitiers.     On  this  occasion  he  was 
detained  for  forty  days  (from  the 
end  of  July  to  the  beginning  of 
September)  by  contrary  winds ;  and 
was  nobly  entertained  by  the  Prior 
of  Plympton.     It  was  while  thus 
delayed    at    the    Priory    that,  as 
Duke  of  Cornwall,  he  granted  to 
one  of  his  old  followers  the  reve- 
nues of  the  ferry  at   'Asche,*  or 
'  Saltash,'   as  a  reward  for  many 
services,  and  in  consideration  of  his 
having  lost  an  eye  in  battle.    It  is 
improbable,  although  some  writers 
assert  it,  that  the    Black  Prince 
landed  at  Plymouth  on  his  return 
from  this  campaigD,  bringing  with 
him  the  captive  King  of  France. 
But  Plymouth  was  the  place  of  his 
landiDg  in  1370,  when  shattered  in 
health  and  in  happiness  he  finally 
left  Aquitaine.     There  he  had  just 
lost  his  eldest  son  Edward ;  and  he 
arrived  at  Plymouth  with  his  wife, 
and  his  remaining  child  Richard  of 
Bordeaux,   afterwards  the  ill-fated 
Richard  II.    After  resting  for  Bome 
days  at  the  Priory,  the  Prince  was 
conveyed  to  London  in  a  litter.  He 
lived  until  1376,  but  never  again 
took  part  in  public   affairs.    The 
scene  at  the  Priory  most  have  con- 
trasted strikingly  with  that  in  1355, 
when  the  Black  Prince  had  been 
received  there  in  the  full  vigour  of 
his  youth,  and  amidst  all  the  splen- 
dour and  excitement   of  a   great 
warlike  expedition. 

Meanwhile,  and  throughout  tiie 
fourteenth  century,  the  fortunes  of 
Plymouth  had  been  variable.  It  was 
attacked  by  French  fleets  and  by 
French  adventurers  again  and  again 
— a  proof  of  its  defenceless  con- 
dition, but  also  of  its  rising  im- 
portance. On  one  of  these  occa- 
sions a  large  force  of  Normans  and 
Bretons  burnt  six  hundred  houses 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  town, 
thenceforward  known  as  *  Breton 
side,'     The  memory  of  this  attack 

Annates  de  Theokshuria,  p.  76,  ed.  Luard  (Annales  Monastici). 


was  hug  preserred  by  an  annual 
fight  between  the  '  Barton  (Breton) 
boys'  and  the  boys  of  the  Old  Town 
on  the  bill,  the  latter  of  whom  used 
to  taont  their  opponents  with  the 
destrnction  wrought  by  the  French 
in  their  quarter.     But  in  spite  of 
these  attacks,  from  which  Plymouth 
mnst  have  greatly  suffered,  it  wad 
progressing    steadily    and    surely. 
The  Carmelites,  or  White  Friars, 
established  themselves  in  the  town 
in  13 13 ;  and  built  near  the  head  of 
Satton  Pool  a  church  with  a  tower-* 
ing  spire,  in  which  the  Commis- 
sioners for  the  '  Scrope  and  Gros- 
venor'   controversy  —  a    disputed 
question  of  the   right  to  certain 
armorial  hearings — examined  many 
Devonsbiie     witnesses     in     1384, 
whilst  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  and 
his  soldiers  were  detained  at  Ply- 
mouth by  contrary  winds.     Fran- 
ciscans were   not  slow  to  foUow 
the  Carmelites'  example ;  and  the 
'  freres '  became  as  well  known  in 
the  narrow  streets  and  quays  of 
'Sntton  juxta    Plym-mouthe'    as 
they  had  been,  for  some  time  in 
those  of  the  southern  and  eastern 
seaports.     Their    extensive  build- 
ings and  loflby  churches  gave  a  new 
character  to   tbe   town,   the  only 
conspiciLons   object  in  whicb  had 
hitherto  been    the  Church  of  St. 
Andrew,    a     Norman     edifice     of 
perhaps  no  great  size.    Before  1 400, 
too,  a  '  stronge  castle  quadrate,'  as 
Leland  calls  it,    'having  at  echo 
corner  a  greto  round  tower,*  had 
been  built  on    the    west    side  of 
Sutton  Pool.     At  a  somewhat  later 
period  this  *  quadrate '  became  the 
foundation  of  the  shield  of  arms 
assigned  to    the   town — argent,   a 
saltiie    vert  between  four  castles 
sable.    The    motto    runs,  *  Turris 
fortissima  est  nomen  Jehova.' 

It  is  clear  that  the  town  of  Sutton 
was  to  some  extent,  but  with  due 
subordination  to  the  authority  of 
the  Prior,  governed  by  a  mayor  and 
bj  certain  assessors  before  the  year 


1 439,  when  it  was  duly  incorporated: 
Before  that  time,  althongb  the  name. 
Plymouth  was  frequenthr  used,  the 
place  was  quite  as  often  called 
Sutton.  Afterwards  it  is  always 
known  as  Plymouth.  The  town  no 
doubt  had  been  stretching  itself 
upward  over  the  hill,  and  westward 
through  the  valley  that  lies  on  the 
land  side  of  the  Hoe.  Nearly  a 
century  before  this  incorporation 
its  importance  as  a  port  may  partly 
be  measured  by  the  number  of  ships 
sent  in  1346  to  the  siege  of  Calais^ 
Plymouth  contributed  26 ;  a  greater 
number  than  London  or  BristoL 
Yarmouth  and  Dartmouth  sent 
more  than  Plymouth;  and  Fowey 
sent  47,  the  greatest  number  of  all. 
These  were  of  course  small  vessels  \ 
but  the  fisheries  and  trade  of  Ply- 
mouth must  by  this  time  have  be- 
come very  considerable.  The  older 
havens,  however,  as  yet  kept  their 
supremacy ;  and  the  ^  gallants  of 
Fowey '  and  the  men  of  Dartmouth, 
jealous  rivals  as  they  were^  and 
frequently  as  they  fought  and 
skirmished,  seem  to  have  paid  little 
attention  to  the  neighbour  who  was 
so  soon  to  overtop  them.  Plymouth 
had  risen  first  by  the  development 
of  her  fisheries.  Her  harbour  was 
then  found  at  least  as  convenient  as 
that  of  Dartmouth  for  ships  crossing 
from  Brittany.  During  the  English 
holding  of  Guienne  and  Aquitaine, 
and  tkroughout  the  French  wars  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  Plymouth 
was  one  of  the  principal  ports  at 
which  ships  entered  from,  and  left  for^ 
Bordeaux ;  and  it  soon  became  the 
favourite  harbour  for  vessels  arriv* 
ing  from  the  northern  ports  of 
Spain.  The  commerce  of  the  place 
was  of  course  greatly  increased  by 
this  extended  use  of  the  harbour, 
which  had  arisen  naturally  from  the 
position  of  Plymouth,  opposite  the 
western  shores  of  the  Continent. 
With  the  discovery  of  the  New 
World,  however,  began  the  *  golden 
time '  of  the  town,     l^he  wide  and 




hitherto  nntracked  Atlantic  lay 
open  from  Plymouth.  Her  seamen 
were  among  the  first  who  yentored 
to  explore  it.  The  stories  bronght 
home  by  them  of  marvelloas  riches 
and  strange  beanly  found  beyond 
the  distant  tropical  seas,  set  on  fire 
the  yonth  of  Devonshire,  sailors 
many  of  them  from  their  boyhood ; 
and  we  may  fancy  many  a  young 
Raleigh  or  Gilbert  gaziug  with 
wonder  on  rare  treasures  of  the 
Indies,  strange  birds,  tropical  fruit, 
or  rich  barbaric  carving,  and  listen- 
ing the  while  to  the  *  yam '  of  some 
weather-beaten  mariner,  as  he 
points  westward  across  the  plain  of 
deep  blue  water. 

But  long  before  the  days  of  Eliza- 
beth, Plymouth  had  witnessed  one 
arrival  which  may  not  be  passed  in 
silence.  On  the  2ndof  October,  1 501, 
the  Princess  Catherine  of  Arragon, 
accompanied  by  grave  prelates,  and 
by  many  of  the  highest  nobles  of 
Spain,  entered  the  harbour,  *  which,' 
writes  the  Licentiate  Alcares  to 
Queen  Isabella,^  'is  the  first  on 
the  coast  of  England.'  *  She  could 
not  have  been  received,'  he  con- 
tinues, 'with  greater  rejoicings  if 
she  had  been  the  Saviour  of  the 
world.  ...  As  soon  as  she  left 
the  boat,  she  went  in  procession  to 
the  church,  where,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
God  gave  her  the  possession  of  all 
these  realms  for  such  a  period  as 
would  be  long  enough  to  enable  her 
to  enjoy  life,  and  to  leave  heirs  to 
the  throne.'  The  Princess  had 
sailed  from  Laredo  on  the  27  th  of 
September.  Off  Ushant  she  had 
encountered  a  furious  tempest,  with 
*  thunder  and  immense  waves.'  The 
rest  of  the  voyage  had  been  stormy ; 
and,  says  Alcares, '  it  was  impossible 
not  to  be  frightened.'  The  church 
in  which  the  Princess  knelt  for  the 
first  time  on  English  ground  may 
have  been  either  St.  Andrew's,  then 

but  newly  rebuilt,  or  i3be  great 
church  of  the  Carmelites,  which  has 
altogether  disappeared.  She  was 
' lodged '  by  'one  Painter,  that,'  says 
Lel^d,  'of  late  died  a  rich  nuu*- 
chaunt,  and  made  a  goodly  house 
toward  the  haven.'  This  '  Palace ' 
as  it  is  called  is  yet  standing.  It  is 
in  Castle  Street,  '  toward  the  haven ; ' 
and  is  built  of  the  local  limestone 
with  timbers  of  massive  oaJc.  Prom 
Plymouth  the  Princess  journeyed  by 
Tavistock  and  Okehampton  to  Exe- 
ter, where  she  occupied  the  Dean- 
ery, and  was  so  greatly  disturbed 
by  the  noise  of  a  weathercock  on  an 
adjoining  church  steeple  that  it  was 
taken  down  on  the  day  after  Iter 

The  Palace  of  Master  Painter  in- 
dicates  the  increasing  prosperity  of 
Plymouth.  About  the  same  time, 
'  one  Thomas  Yogge,'  a  merchant, 
built  for  himself  'a  fair  house  of 
moor-stone ' — as  the  granite  of  Dart- 
moor  is  still  called — and  *  paid  for 
making  of  the  steeple  of  Plymonth 
church,'  St.  Andrew's,  whose  fine 
Perpendicular  tower  still  bears  wit- 
ness to  the  wealth  and  generosity  of 
Thomas  Yogge.  This  was  Late  in  the 
fifteenth  century.  Before  anotber 
hundred  years  had  passed,  'the 
name  and  reputation  of  Plymontb/ 
in  Camden's  words,  '  was  veiy  great 
among  all  nations,  and  this  not  so 
much  for  the  convenience  of  ^e 
harbour  as  for  the  valour  and  worth 
of'  the  inhabitants.'  This  is  tbe 
Plymouth  of  Drayton — 

Upon  the  British  coast  what  ship  jet  ortf 
camo  I 

That  not  of  Plymonth  hcares?  irbere 
those  brave  navies  lie 

From  cannon's  thundering  thzoate  that  all 
the  world  defje. 

It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  tbe 
expeditions  both  of  adventure  and 
of  war  which  so  frequently  left  the 
harbour  of  Plymonth   throughoni 

*  Bevgenroth,  Calendar  of  Lettert  ^c.  relating  to  NegotlationB 
Spain  preaervtd  at  Simancas,  toL  i.  p.  262  (Rolls  Series). 

between  Bhgland  eai^ 




the  reign  of  EUzabeth.  There  was, 
gajs  Carew,  'an  infinite  swarm  of 
smgle  ships  dail  j  here  manned  out 
to  the  same  effect.'  Strangers 
crowded  the  streets;  and  many  a 
needj  adyentnrer  fonnd  his  way 
here  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  pas- 
sage to  the  golden  lands  of  Virginia 
or  Florida.  So  at  least  suggests  the 

HaTo  orer  the  waters  ta  Florida, 

Faie\rell  good  London  now  ; 
Through  long  delays  on  land  and  seas 

fm  brought,  I  cannot  t-ell  how, 
In  FljmoaSi  town  in  a  threadbare  gown, 

And  money  never  a  deal. 
Hay  trixi  trim  !  go  trixi  trim ! 

And  win  not  a  wallet  do  well  ? 

Such  was  the  condition  of  Ply- 
mouth in  the  days  of  the  Great 
Qaeen.  Bnt  the  spirit  of  adven- 
ture had  been  aronsed  long  before, 
ilartin  Cockeram,  of  Plymonth, 
sailed  with  Sebastian  Cabot,  and 
assisted  him.  in  his  exploration  of 
the  River  Plate.  In  1530  Cockeram 
sailed  again  with  William  Hawkins 
on  the  first  of  his  voyages  to  Brazil, 
and  was  there  left  in  pledge  with 
the  natives  for  the  safety  of  one  of 
the  ^salvage  kings*  whom  Hawkins 
brought  back  to  England.  The 
*  king '  died ;  bnt  the  natives,  be- 
lieving that  Hawkins  had  '  behaved 
wisely 'towards  them,  restored  Cock- 
eram; who  was  thns,  snggests  a 
recent  historian  of  Plymonth,*  'the 
first  Englishman  who  ever  dwelt  in 
South  America, — ^possibly  the  first 
who  ever  set  foot  on  the  Western 
continent.'  Cockeram  lived  to  hoar 
of  the  fiuno  of  his  old  captain's  son 
— ^tliat  Sir  John  Hawkins  who  so 
often  'singed  the  King  of  Spain's 
beard,'  and  who  is  so  constantly 
referred  to  in  Philip's  letters  and 
memorials  as  the  terrible  'Achines,' 
— ^a  form  -which  suggests  that  the 
name  must  have  been  conveyed  to 
the  Spanish.  Court  from  the  lips 
of    DevonBhire  sailors.    Hawkins, 

Drake,  and  Baleigh  are  the  most 
famous  names  connected  with  Eliza- 
bethan Plymouth.  But  from  its 
harbour,  under  the  same  glow  of 
adventure,  sailed  Sir  Humphrey 
Gilbert  to  discover  Newfoundland ; 
Sir  Bichard  Ghrenville  for  Virginia ; 
Frobisher  and  Davies  for  the  North- 
western Seas,  and  Cavendish  on  his 
voyage  round  the  world.  Cattewater 
and  Sutton  Pool  were  thronged  with 
the  small  pinnaces  in  which  these 
daring  seamen  braved  all  the  perils  of 
unknown  seas ;  and  the  whole  town 
was  frequently  thrown  into  a  fever  of 
delight  and  triumph  by  the  return  of 
ships  laden  with  wealth,  as  often  the 
spoil  of  Spanish  galleys  as  of  rich 
islands  of  the  West.  When  Sir 
Francis  Drake  came  back  from  his 
voyage  round  the  world,  the  peoplo 
were  at  prayers  in  St.  Andrew's 
Church.  Thither  the  news  was 
brought.  The  church  was  speedily 
emptied ;  and  whilst  *  the  great  ordi- 
nance  were  let  off'  the  rejoicing' 
townsmen  hurried  to  the  quays, 
ready  to  welcome  the  mariners '  with 
draughtes  of  wine  and  drinkyng  of 
healthes.'  In  the  midst  of  such  re- 
cords the  town  books  show  that  the 
usual  festivities  of  Old — and  merry 
— England  were  not  neglected.  The 
Ma3rpole  was  duly  dressed ;  the  *  Mor- 
ryshe  dancers'  were  treated  with  a 
*  breckfast ;'  *Mr.  Fortescue's  players' 
and  (we  are  a  little  scandalised)  *  my 
Lord  Busshoppe's  players '  (this  was 
in  1561)  each  received  13^.^.  for 
their  performances.  The  *Bus- 
shoppe '  himself  (William  AUey,  a 
man  of  learning  and  a  patron  of 
letters,  who  well  deserved  a  good 
dinner)  cost  the  town  1/.  6s.  8c2., 
paid  to  *  Also  Lyell  for  my  Lorde's 
dinner,'  besides  Ss.  Sd.  'paido  to 
the  cooke  for  the  rostynge  of  the 

A  few  Elizabethan  houses  remain 
in  the  streets  of  Old  Plymouth ;  but 
it  cannot  be  said  that  this  most 

•  iR*<pry  of  Plymouth,  by  B.  N.  Worth.    Plymouth.  1871. 




active  and  romantic  period  has  left 
anj  very  striking  memorials  in  the 
town  itself  or  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  imagination  mnst  see  more  than 
the  eye.  The  land  itself  has  not 
changed,  and  the  harbonrs  have 
been  little  altered.  Cattewater  re* 
mains  much  as  when  Sir  John 
Hawkins  sent  a  cannon  ball  through 
the  side  of  a  Spanish  galleon,  lying 
there  with  prisoners  from  the  Low 
Gonntries  on  board,who,  as '  Achines ' 
intended,  got  free  daring  the  en* 
sning  tumult.  The  '  fidr  green  called 
the  Hoe '  is  still  much  the  same  as 

•    •    about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm 

STunmer  day 
There  came  a  gallant  merchant  ship  full 

sail  to  Plymouth  bay  ; 
Her  crew  had  seen  Castile's  black  fleet 

beprond  Aurign/s  isle, 
At  earhest  twilight  on  the  waves  lie  heaving 

many  a  mile — 

the  same  as  on  the  afternoon  of 
that  19th  of  July  when,  as  the  tra- 
dition runs,  the  men  of  the  '  gallant 
merchant  ship  '  brought  the  news 
of  the  approach  of  the  Armada  to 
the  captains  of  the  English  fleet  as 
they  were  playing  bowls  on  the 
green  near  the  present  citadel. 
Still,  as  we  look  from  the  same 
point,  we  can  picture  to  ourselves 
the  mighty  crescent  fleet  passing 
slowly  along  the  far  horizon,  and 
hear  the  faint  sound  of  the  ord- 
nance fired  by  the  Spaniards  or 
their  pursuers.  And  the  view  land- 
ward may  recall  other  memories. 
Under  the  Dartmoor  hills  lies  Far- 
del, the  ancestral  home  of  Sir 
Walter  Baleigh,  where  he  is  said 
to  have  buried  much  gold  brought 
at  different  times  from  over  seas. 
An  ancient  inscribed  stone  (now 
removed)  marked  the  place  of  the 
'  hoard ; '  and  the  local  rhyme 
ran — 

Between  this  stone  and  Fardell  hall 

Lies  as  much  money  as  the  devil  can  haul. 

Buckland   Abbey,    the   house    of 

Cistercian  monks  reconstructed  by 
Sir  Francis  Drake  for  his  own 
dwelling-place,  lies  more  out  of 
sight;  but  the  true  memorial  of 
the  great  navigator  is  the  '  leat '  or 
stream  of  water  which,  brought 
under  his  direction  from  the  dis- 
tant Meavy  river,  still  supplies  the 
town  of  Plymouth.  Floating  ro- 
mance and  folk-lore  are  constantly 
gathered  round  the  name  of  a  local 
hero,  and  that  of  Drake  is  no  ex- 
ception. He  is  said  to  have  been 
a  powerful  magician  ;  and  after  he 
had  repeated  certain  spells  near  the 
river,  the  water  followed  of  its  own 
accord  as  he  galloped  over  the 
downs  towards  Plymouth.  He  '  set 
up  a  compass '  on  the  Hoo  during 
the  year  (i 581-2)  in  which  he 
served  as  mayor;  and  the  lines 
under  his  portrait  in  the  Guildhall 
record  his  services — 

Who  with  fresh  streams  refresht  this  towoe 
that  first 

Though  kist  with  waters  yet  did  pine  for 

Who  both  a  pilote  and  a  magistrate 

Steered  in  his  tarne  the  shippe  of  Ply- 
mouth's state. 

The  Mayor  and  Corporation  an- 
nuaUy  inspect  the  leat ;  and  at  the 
weir  head  drink  in  water  '  To  the 
pious  memory  of  Sir  Francis  Drake,* 
and  in  wine  ^  May  the  descendants 
of  him  who  brought  us  water  never 
want  wine.'  Of  the  old  Corpora- 
tion plate  only  one  cup,  known  as 
the  *  Union  Cup,'  can  have  been 
used  by  these  Elizabethan  heroes. 
It  is  of  silver  gilt,  and  was  the 
gift,  in  1585,  of  John  White  of 
London,  haberdasher,  'to  the  Mayor 
of  Plymouth  and  his  brethren  for 
ever,  to  drink  crosse  one  to  the 
other  at  their  feastes  and  meet- 

The  importance  of  Plymouth  as 
a  seaport  continued  during  the 
reigns  of  James  I.  and  of  Charles  I., 
though  expeditions  against  Spain 
were  then  somewhat  at  a  discount. 
The    ^drinking    of  tobacco'  had 




greailj  increased  sixice  Baleigh 
tooklus  first  pipe  in  the  chimney 
comer  at  Greenaway.  In  1663, 
Garrard  writes  to  Ix>rd  Strafford 
that  *  Plymouth  had  yielded  looZ. 
and  as  much  yearly  rent '  to  the 
'licensed  persons'  who  'had  a 
lease  for  life  to  sell  tobacco '  there ; 
a  proof  that  the  crowd  of  sea- 
men had  by  no  means  diminished. 
About  the  same  time  we  get  a 
cnrions  pictore  of  Plymouth,  and  a 
good  example  of  Devonshire  dialect 
— difienng  not  at  all  from  the  tme 
Doric  still  to  be  heard  in  the  neigh- 
boarLood — ^in  some  rhymes  written 
by  William  Strode,  of  Newnham, 
near  Plympton,  who  in  1638  died  a 
Canon  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford. 
They  are  preserved  among  the 
flarieian  MSS. 

Thou  oe*erwoot  riddle,  neighbor  John, 
When  ich  of  late  have  bin-a, 
Whj  ich  ha  bin  to  Plimoth,  man, 
The  like  was  yet  ne'er  zeene-a ; 
Zich  BtieetSf  zich  men,  zich  hugeous  zeas, 
Zieh  tluD^  and  gans  there  rumbling, 
Thyself  bke  me,  wood'st  blesse  to  zee 
Zich  'bomioation  grumbling. 

The  Btneta  bee  pigbt  of  shindle-stone 

Doe  glinen  like  the  sl^-a, 

Tlie  zhops  flton  ope  and  all  the  yeere  long 

Ise  think  how  faire  there  be-a ; 

And  many  a  gallant  here  goeth 

r  goold,  Uiat  zaw  the  kiuge-a. 

The  king  zome  zweare  himself  was  there, 

A  man  or  zome  zich  thing-a. 

Thou  TooIe,  that  never  water  zaw'st 

Bat  thiek-a  in  the  moor-a, 

To  zee  the  zea  wood'st  be  a'gast 

It  doth  BOO  rage  and  roar-a. 

It  tasts  zoo  zalt  thj  tongue  wood  thinke 

The  viie  vere  in  the  water, 

And  'tis  aoo  wide,  noe  land  is  spide, 

Ix)ok  Deer  aoo  long  theie-ater. 

Amidtft  the  water  wooden  birds 

And  flying  houses  zwim-a ; 

AH  full  of  things  as  ich  ha'  heard 

And  goods  np  to  the  brim-a ; 

They  goe  onto  another  world 

Bearing  to  conquier-a 

Vor  which  those  guns,  Toule  deyelish  ones, 

Doe  dunder  and  spett  vire-a. 

Among  the '  flying  houses '  on  the 
water,  neighbour  John  may  have 
looked  on  one  whicli  was  destined 
to  become  more  famous  than  Gil- 
bert's Golden  Hindj  or  Sir  Francis 
Drake's  Felican.  In  September 
1620,  the  Mayflower  sailed  from 
Plymouth,  carrying  across  the  ocean 
those  Pilgrim  Fathers  who  planted 
the  first  settlement  on  the  coast  of 
New  England,  and  gave  to  it  the 
name  of  the  ground  in  tho  mother 
country  which  their  feet  had  last 
trodden.  When,  off  the  coast  of 
Dartmouth,  the  captain  of  the 
Speedwell  with  his  company  re- 
^ed  te  proceed  farther,  tho  May^ 
flower  put  in  at  Plymouth,  and  her 
passengers,  in  all  10 1  souls,  were 
*  kindly  entertained  and  courteously 
used  by  divers  friends  there  dwell- 
ing.' It  does  not  appear  that  ^y 
Devonshire  men  were  among  the 
'  Pilgrims ; '  but  their  reception 
certainly  indicates  the  existence  of 
a  strong  Puritanical  feeling  in  the 
town — ^a  feeling  which  had  strength- 
ened into  decided  opposition  to  the 
King  when  the  civil  war  broke  out 
in  1642. 

The  struggle  with  a  people  so 
trained  in  adventure  and  to  the 
endurance  of  danger,  was  likely  to 
be  fierce  and  proti-acted.  Accord- 
ingly, in  spite  of  two  continuous 
sieges,  and  of  many  lesser  dangers, 
and  notwithstanding  the  appearance 
of  Charles  himself  before  i^  walls, 
the  town  held  out  until  the  march 
of  Fairfax  and  Cromwell  into  the 
west  in  the  spring  of  1646  put  an 
end  to  the  lingering  hopes  of  Devon- 
shire Royalists.  The  King  lay  for 
some  time  at  the  house  of  Widey ; 
and  during  his  stay  he  showed 
himself  daily,  attended  by  Prince 
Maurice  (who  was  then  directing 
the  siege),  and  a  goodly  cavalier 
company,  on  the  top  of  Townsend 
hill,  opposite  one  of  the  principal 
redoubte  of  the  town.  The  towns- 
men gave  the  name  of  '  Yapouring 
Hill'  to  the  spot  which  was  thus 




diebingoishod.  Plymouth  was  proud 
of  its  saccessftil  resistance.  The 
Pnritan  feeling  was  long  contintied; 
and  it  was,  perhaps,  owing  to  this 
that  after  the  Bestoration  oertain 
&milies  looked  on  with  an  evil  eye 
by  the  Government  took  refage 
here.  Among  them  were  some 
descendants  of  Bradshaw,  the  regi- 
cide ;  and  Northcote,  the  painter, 
told  Hazlitt  how,  in  his  early  days, 
one  of  the  family,  *  an  old  lady  of 
the  name  of  WUcox,  nsed  tp  walk 
about  in  Gibbon's  fields,  so  prim  and 
starched,  holding  up  her  fan  spread 
out  like  a  peacock's  tail,  with  such 
an  air  on  account  of  her  supposed 
relationship.'  The  CavaUers  re- 
garded Plymouth  somewhat  differ- 
ently. It  was  thought  fit,  indeed, 
that  the  town  should  bo  taught  the 
consequences  of  rebellion ;  and  in 
1660,  when  the  regicides  were  exe- 
cuted at  Charing  Cross,  John  Al- 
lured, of  Plymouth,  was  hanged 
*"  for  speaking  treason,'  and  his  head 
was  set  up  on  the  old  Guildhall. 
But  whatever  were  tho  feelings  of 
the  townsmen,  the  authorities  made 
due  submission.  They  presented 
two  pieces  of  plate  to  the  King ; 
and  after  a  severe  scolding  they 
were  fully  admitted  to  the  royal 
favour  on  the  visit  of  Charles  II. 
in  1670 ;  when  he  *  touched  for  the 
eviU  in  the  great  church  ' — that  of 
St.  Andrew,  and  visited  the  new 
church,  which  Seth  Ward,  Bishop 
of  Exeter,  had  consecrated  in  1664 
*  by  the  name  of  the  royal  martyr.' 
This  church  had  been  begun  before 
the  civil  war;  and  although  its 
spire  is  slightly  awry,  owing,  it  is 
said,  to  the  broomsticks  of  a  fiight 
of  witches  who  struck  it  as  they 
passed,  it  is  an  excellent  example 
of  very  late  Gothic  architecture, 
which  in  some  parts  of  the  building 
is  hardly  to  be  called  '  debased.' 

Meanwhile     the     harbour    was 
crowded,  many  events  of  import- 

ance were  occurring  off  the  coasts 
and  fleets  were  coming  and  going. 
Blake,  returning  in  1656  from  the 
Canaries,  died  at  the  entrance  of 
the   Sound.     His  body  was   em- 
balmed    at     Plymouth,    and    his 
bowels  *  buried  by  the  mayor's  seat 
doore.'   De  Ruyter,  after  the  Dutch 
had  burnt  the  fleet  at  Chatham, 
'divers    times     anchored     in    the 
Sound,  but  did  noe  harm.'     The 
Grand   Duke    Cosmo    dei    Medici 
landed  at  Plymouth  in   1669,  and 
admired  the  town  with  its  antique 
buildings,  *  almost  shut  up  by   a 
gorge  of  the  mountains,  and  not  to 
be  seen  from  the  sea,'  a  description 
which  shows  us  that  as  yet  it  had 
not  spread  very  far  inland.     The 
Duke    of    Albemarle,    Monk   the 
king-maker,  whose  education,  says 
Clarendon,  had  been  but  rough — 
only  Dutch  and  Devonshire — came 
here   *with    near  forty  gentlemen 
attending  him,'  and  was  made  free 
of  the    corporation.      Lord    Dart- 
mouth  sailed   from  Plymouth   on 
the  expedition  to  Tangiers,  having 
on  board   the  fleet  the  ingenious 
Mr.  Pepys,  who  has  duly  recorded 
how,  being  *on  board  my  lord's 
ship  in  the  Sound,'  he  '  stayed  for 
his   doublet, — the    sleeves    altered 
according  to  sea  fashion.'     Roger 
North  accompanied  his  relation,  the 
Lord  Keeper  Guilford,  on  his  west- 
ern circuit,  saw  with  him  all  the 
sights  of  Plymouth,  and  wondered 
at  the  strange  west  country  dialect^, 

*  more  barbarous,'  he  thought,  *  than 
that  in  any  other  part  of  England, 
the  north  not  excepted.'*  The 
most  '  worthy  spectacle  '  at  Ply- 
mouth was  the  new  fort  or  citadel, 

*  built  of  the  marble  of  the  place,' 
and  commanding  a  *  glorious  pro- 
spect. '  This  citadel,  begun  in  1 670, 
was  designed  by  Bernard  de  Gk)ime, 
and  was  intended  not  only  for  t^e 
security  of  the  place,  but  *  as  a  check 
to   the   rebellious   spirits    of    tlie 

•  Soger  North's  Life  0/  the  Lord  Keeper,  p.  120. 




nefgliboiirhood.'  In  diggisg  the 
fonBdatioiis  some  enormous  bones 
were  fonnd,  which  were  held  to 
hxe  been  iiiose  of  the  giant  Cori* 
jam.  At  this  time  the  Island  of 
St.  Nicholas  in  the  Sound,  which 
bad  been  fortified  dnring  the  civil 
war^was  used  as  a  State  prison ;  and 
dnnng  the  visits  of  Charles  II., 
within  sight  and  hearing  of  the 
festivities  with  which  thej  were  ac- 
compuiied,  a  prisoner  was  detained 
there  to  whom  such  sights  and 
fioonds  most  have  bronght  strange 
emotions.  This  was  JoLji  Lambert, 
the  famous  Major-General  of  Crom- 
well's army,  who  was  tried,  together 
with  Vane,  in  1661,  but  who,  owing 
to  his  *"  submissive  behaviour,'  es- 
caped capital  punishment.  He  was 
first  sent  to  Guernsey,  and  removed 
thence  in  1667  to  St.  Nicholas' 
Ifihad,  where  he  remained  until 
1683,  in  the  very  cold  winter  of 
which  year  he  died.  '  Ships,'  writes 
James  Yonge,  the  chronicler  of  the 
town,^  *  were  starved  in  the  mouth 
of  the  Channel,  and  almost  all  the 
cattd  famisht.  The  fish  left  the 
coast  almost  five  moneths.'  In  his 
long  imprisonment  Lambert  amused 
himself  by  painting  flowers ;  for  he 
had  been  a  great  gardener,  and  had 
cultivated  at  Wimbledon  '  the  finest 
tulips  and  giUiflowers  that  could  be 
got  for  love  or  money.'  Myles  Hal- 
head,  a  member  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  has  given  in  his  Suffenngs 
and  Passages,  a  curious  account  of 
an  interview  with  Lambert  at  Ply- 
month.  He  found  the  soldiers '  very 
qniet  and  moderate ; '  and  Lambert 
himself  bore  with  patience  a  very 
severe  reprimand  '  for  having  made 
laws,  and  consented  to  the  making 
of  laws,  against  the  Lord's  people.' 
The  place  of  Lambert's  inteiment  is 
not  known.  A  fellow-prisoner  with 
him  for  some  time  was  James 
fisrington,    author    of     the    once 

famous  Oceana.  He  suffered  great- 
ly on  the  island  from  bad  water 
and  want  of  exercise;  and  at  last 
was  allowed  to  remove  into  the 
town  of  Plymouth,  certain  of  his 
relations  giving  a  bond  for  5,oooZ. 
that  he  would  not  escape. 

We  are  advancing  towards  com- 
paratively modem  times.  The  fleet 
of  400  ships  which  brought  the 
Prince  of  Orange  to  Torbay,  after 
he  had  landed  at  Brixham,  passed 
round  the  Start,  and  wintered  at 
Plymouth.  In  tie  spring' of  1689 
two  regiments  were  sent  here  to 
embark  for  Ireland  ;  so  that  the 
town  was  crowded  with  soldiers 
and  sailors,  'greatc  iDfectiou  hap- 
pened ;  and  above  1,000  people  were 
buried  in  three  months.'  The  gar- 
rison was  in  no  good  humour.  Its 
governor  was  Lord  Lansdowne, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Bath,  one  of  the 
Grenvilles  who  had  given  their  lives 
for  King  Charles ;  and  although  ho 
did  not  oppose  the  now  order  of 
things,  he  did  not  greatly  care  to 
restrain  the  excesses  of  his  men. 
Accordingly,  they  disturbed  the 
rejoicings  at  the  coronation  of  Wil- 
liam and  Mary.  There  was  a  fight, 
and  one  of  the  townsmen  was  killed 
in  the  fray.  From  such  bickerings, 
however,  they  were  speedily  re- 
called by  an  appearance  of  danger 
from  without.  The  great  French 
fleet  under  Tourville  was  seen  to 
pass  before  the  harbour,  sailing 
eastward.  The  beacons  were  fired, 
and  all  Devonshire  was  roused. 
Tourville  burned  Teignmoutli ;  but 
did  little  more  harm,  although  there 
was  considerable  fear  lest  he  should 
attack  Plymouth,  and  the  'town 
was  kept  in  arms  with  good  watch- 
ing.' But  the  French  were  too 
busy  elsewhere. 

Before  the  seventeenth  century 
had  closed,  Winstanley  had  erected 
the  first  lighthouse  on  the  Eddy- 

'  YoDge  was  an  ancestor  of  the  Yonges  of  Poslineli.    His  I'Ummauth  MeTtunrs,  a  very 
brief  dironiele  of  events,  zemainB  in  MS.  in  the  libraiy  of  the  Athensun  at  Plymouth. 




stone,  that  most  dangerous  rock  off 
the  entrance  to  the  Sound,  *  where 
the  carcasses  of  manj  a  tall  ship 
lie  buried/  This  was  swept  away 
in  1703,  and  very  soon  afterwards 
the  terrible  disaster  at  the  Scilly 
Islands  (October  1707),  in  which 
three  line-of-battle  ships  perished 
with  all  on  board,  indu^g  the 
Admiral,  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel, 
drew  fresh  attention  to  the  neces^ 
sity  of  affording  to  these  stormy 
coasts  such  protection  as  might  be 
practicable.  The  body  of  Sir 
Cloudesley  Shovel  was  brought  to 
Plymouth  in  the  Salisbury,  and  was 
lodged  in  the  citadel.  It  was  em- 
balmed, and  was  then  conveyed  to 
Westminster,  where  the  monument 
raised  above  it  is  conspicuous  for 
the  '  eternal  buckle '  of  the  rough 
sailor's  periwig.  Budyard  was  at 
the  same  time  bu^  with  the  second 
lighthouse  on  the  Eddystone,  which 
was  burnt.  The  present  structure, 
seen  from  the  Hoe  as  a  faint  line 
against  the  horizon,  was  not  begun 
until  1757.  It  was  completed  in  two 
years,  during  which  Smeaton  anxi- 
ously watched  its  progress,  often 
climbing  to  the  Hoein  the  dim  grey  of 
the  morning,  and  peering  through  his 
telescope  *  till  he  could  see  a  white 
pillai*  of  spray  shot  up  into  the  air.' 
Then  he  knew  that  the  building,  so 
£Eur  as  it  had  advanced,  was  safe ; 
•and  could  proceed  to  his  work- 
shops, his  mind  relieved  for  the 

The  lighthouse  was  still  a  novel 
wonder  when  it  was  ^  watched  from 
the  Hoe '  and  was  examined  more 
closely  by  a  visitor  of  whom  Ply- 
mouth might  well  be  proud.  In 
1762  Dr.  Johnson  arrived  at  the 
town  in  company  with  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  and  was  received  with 
much  distinction  by  all  (they  were 
perhaps  not  many)  who  could  ap- 
preciate his  learning  and  his  conver- 
sation. 'The  magnificence  of  the 
navy,'  says  Boswell,  *the  ship- 
building and  all  its  circumstances. 

afforded  him  a  grand  subject  of 
contemplation.'  The  Commissioner 
of  the  Dockyard  (which  h^ 
been  established  in  the  reign  of 
William  HE.)  conveyed  Johnson 
and  Sir  Joshua  to  the  Eddystone 
in  his  yacht;  but  the  sea  was  so 
rough  that  they  could  not  land. 
It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
more  anecdotes  of  this  visit,  from 
which  Johnson  declared  that  he 
had  derived  a  great  '  accession  of 
new  ideas,'  have  not  been  preserved. 
A  great  struggle  was  at  the  time 
in  progress  between  Plymouth  and 
Dock  (Devonport)  regarding  the 
right  claimed  by  the  latter  to  be 
supplied  from  Sir  Francis  Drake's 
water  leat.  '  I  hate  a  Docker,'  said 
Johnson,  setting  himself  vehemently 
on  the  side  of  the  older  town.  '  No, 
no,  I  am  against  the  Dockers.  I  am 
a  Plymouth  man.  Rogues,  let  them 
die  of  thirst ;  they  shall  not  have  a 
drop.'  We  must  suppose  that 
party  spirit  in  Plymouth  ran  high ; 
but  we  are  not  told  whether  the 
duty  of  neighbourly  charity  was 
the  subject  of  a  discourse  to  which 
the  great  Doctor  listened  in  St. 
Andrew's  Church,  and  which  was 
composed  for  his  special  edification 
by  the  Vicar,  Doctor  Zachary 
Mudge,  a  man,  says  Johnson  (who 
wrote  his  epitaph  in  return  for 
his  sermon),  'equally  eminent  for 
his  virtues  and  abilities;  at  once 
beloved  as  a  companion  and  reve- 
renced as  a  pastor.'  This  Doctor 
Mudge  is  the  subject  of  a  ghost 
story  told  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
Demonology,  He  was  known  to  he 
actually  dying  when  he  made  his 
appearance  at  a  club  in  Plymouth 
of  which  he  had  long  been  a  mem- 
ber. He  did  not  speak  ;  but  saluting 
the  assembled  company,  drank  to 
them,  and  retired.  They  sent  at 
once  to  his  house,  and  found  that 
he  had  just  expired.  Many  years 
afterwards  his  nurse  confessed  that 
she  had  left  the  room  for  a  short 
time,  and,  to  her  horror,  found  the 




bed  empty  on  her  retnm.  Doctor 
Madge  had  remembered  that  it  was 
the  erening  for  the  assembling  of 
the  club,  and  had  visited  it  accord* 
inglj.    He  came  back  and  died. 

In  these  days  of  Qteorge  the 
Third,  the  Hfe  of  Old  Plymouth 
may  be  said  to  end.  The  great 
changes  which  have  so  rapidly  built 
up  tibe  new  town  did  not  indeed 
begin  until  the  opening  of  the  pre- 
sent century.  The  Breakwater, 
began  in  1812,  but  not  finished 
nndl  1840,  had  made,  long  before 
its  completion,  the  great  basin  of 
the  Sound  a  comparatively  safe 
harbour.  This  was,  of  course, 
greatly  to  the  advantage  of  the 
town.  But  we  are  desJing  with 
'  Old '  Plymouth,  and  cannot  here 
attempt  to  follow  the  development 
which,  since  the  early  part  of  the 
century,  and  most  conspicuously 
dunng  the  last  thirty  years,  has 
gradually  extended  the  town  over 

the  surrounding  heights  and  valleys, 
until  *  Vapourmg  Hill  *  itself  has 
become  covered  with  buildings,  and 
the  outposts  of  Stonehouse  and 
Devonport,  extending  their  arms  in 
like  manner,  have  united  themselves 
closely  with  Plymouth.  Such  have 
been  the  growth  and  the  changes 
since  the  days  when  '  Sutton  juxta 
Plym-mouthe'  lay,  a  little  fishing 
hamlet,  under  the  rale  of  the 
Augustinian  Prior.  If  *  it  could  not 
be  seen  from  the  sea '  when  the 
Grand  Duke  Cosmo  landed  at  the 
Barbican,  it  now,  from  the  Sound 
or  from  the  Breakwater,  makes  a 
grand  foreground  to  the  distant 
landscape,  watched  over  and 
guarded  by  the  purple  Dartmoor 
hills,  and  dignified  by  its  protecting 
fortifications,  which  afford — recent- 
ly constructed  as  many  of  them 
are — the  latest  testimony  to  the 
wealth  and  national  importance  of 
modem  Plymouth. 

BiCHARD  John  Kino. 

222  [February 


14.  I  am  not  shocked  by  failings  in  my  friend, 

For  human  life's  a  zigzag  to  the  end. 
Bat  if  he  to  a  lower  plane  descend, 
Contented  there, — alas,  my  former  friend! 

15.  From  the  little  that's  shown 

To  complete  the  unknown, 

Is  a  folly  we  hourly  repeat; 

And  for  once,  I  would  say. 
That  men  lead  us  astray. 

Ourselves  we  a  thousand  times  cheat. 

16.  Where  is  the  wise  and  just  man?    where 

That  earthly  maiden,  heavenly  fair  ? 
Life  slips  and  passes :  where  are  these  P 
Friend? — Loved  One? — I  am  ill  at  ease. 
Shall  I  give  up  my  hope  ?  declare 
Unmeaning  promises  they  were 
That  fed  my  youth,  pure  dreams  of  night. 
And  lofty  thoughts  of  clear  daylight  ? 
I  saw.     I  search  and  cannot  find. 
*  Come,  ere  too  late ! '  'tis  like  a  wind 
Across  a  heath.     Befool'd  we  live. 
— Nay,  Lord,  forsake  me  not ! — ^forgive  ! 

17.  Unless  you  are  growing  wise  and  good, 

I  can't  respect  you  for  growing  old; 
'Tis  a  path  yon  would  fain  avoid  if  you  could. 
And  it  means  growing  ugly,  suspicious,  and  cold. 

'/9j  BrcarMeberries,  223 

Mj  not  Lore  and  FriendBhip,  tho'  long  and  vainly  sought ; 
Tiiy  sad  x)6rpetnal  craving  with  deepest  proof  is  fraught. 
Thm  canst  be  friend  and  lover ;  else  why  thy  longing  now  ? 
Canst  th^ni  be  true  and  tender  P— of  mortals,  only  thou  ? 

They  are  my  friends 

Who  are  most  mine. 

And  I  most  theirs, 

When  common  cares 
Give  room  to  thoughts  poetic  and  divine. 
And  in  a  psalm  of  love  all  nature  blends. 

20.  Like  children  in  the  masking  game 

Men  strive  to  hide  their  natures ; 
Each  in  his  turn  says,  *  Guess  my  name,* 
Disguising  voice  and  features. 

If  he  draw  you  aside  from  your  proper  end, 
No  enemy  like  a  bosom  friend. 

For  thinking,  one ;  for  converse,  two,  no  more ; 
Three  for  an  argument;  for  walking,  four; 
For  social  pleasure,  five ;  for  fun,  a  score. 


^3-  Can  I  be  friends  with  that  so  alter'd  youy 

And  to  your  former  friendly  self  keep  true  ? 

*4.        Well  fop  the  man  whom  sickness  makes  more  tender, 
^^0  doth  his  prideftil  cravings  then  surrender, 
Owning  the  boon  of  every  little  pleasure, 
And  love  (too  oft  misprized)  a  heavenly  treasure, 
^^g  at  last  a  truer  strength  in  weakness, 
^  ^©dicine  for  the  soul  in  body-sickness. 

224  Brambleberries^  [Febiuary 

25.  While  friends  we  were,  the  hot  debates 

That  rose  'twixt  you  and  me ! — 
Now  we  are  mere  associates, 
And  never  disagree. 

26.  We  only  touch  by  surfaces; 

Bat  Spirit  is  the  core  of  these. 

To  A  Friend. 

27.  Dear  friend,  so  much  admired,  so  oft  desired, 

'Tis  true  that  now  I  wish  to  be  away. 
You  are  not  tiresome,  no  !  but  I  am  tired. 
Allow  to  servant  brain  and  nerves  full  play 
In  their  electric  function,  yea  and  nay. 
Faith  and  affection  do  not  shift  their  ground, 
Howe'er  the  vital  currents  ebb  and  flow. 
To  feel  most  free  because  most  firmly  bound 
Is  friendship's  privilege:  so  now  I  go, 
To  rest  awhile  the  mystic  nerves  and  brain, 
To  walk  apart, — and  long  for  you  again. 



By  a  Visitor  to  Salt  Lake  City. 

AMONG  Uie  Mormons  commonly, 
three  things  only  are  stated  of 
the  founder  of  their  faith — that  an 
angel  appeared  to  him,  that  he 
trsmslated  the  Booh  of  Monnon  by 
Divine  inspiration,  and  that  he 
sealed  his  testimony  by  a  martyr's 
death.  And  tbe  better  informed 
among  them,  and  even  their  teach- 
ers and  apostles,  the  personal 
friends  of  Joseph  Smith  in  old  days, 
have  little  more  to  say.  I  was  sur- 
prised  at  the  scantiness  of  the  in- 
formation to  be  obtained.  Mor- 
mons of  standing  like  Orson  Pratt, 
John  Taylor,  Sqnire  Wells,  and 
Miss  Snow  seemed  perfectly  will- 
ing to  tell  me  all  they  conld  recol- 
lect abont  the  prophet,  but  almost 
all  particnlars  of  his  method  of  life, 
his  ways  of  speaking  and  acting, 
had  apparently  faded  firom  memory, 
too  indistinctive  to  have  left  a 
deep  trace.  No  one  could  recollect 
of  him  those  small  personal  inci- 
dents, or  characteristic  habits,  or 
striking  pieces  of  expression,  which 
are  nsaally  treasured  so  carefully 
of  noted  personages.  Nor  have  I 
BQcceeded  in  finding  many  such 
particulars  in  print.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  the  Mormons  dimly  sus- 
pect that  the  less  precise  their 
knowledge  of  the  prophet,  the  more 
profound  their  veneration  is  likely 
to  be. 

The  accounts  of  Joseph  Smith 
given  by  anti-Mormons  are  simi- 
larly barren  of  such  pieoea  of  per- 
sonal information  as  might  serve  to 
reveal  his  inner  character,  and  are 
besides  written  commonly  with  a 
rancour  so  intense  as  to  impair 
their  authority  aa  statements  of 

The  prophet  has  left  behind  a 
voluninouB  autobiography ;  but,  to 
one*s  disappointment,  it  is  found  to 
consist  almost  exclusively  of  a  mass 


of  verbose  revelations  republished 
in  the  authoritative  Booh  of  Doc- 
trine and  Covenants^  and  forming, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Booh  of 
Mormon^  the  most  puerile  and 
tedious  reading  in  tho  world. 

I  suggested  to  a  number  of  tho 
leading  saints  that  anecdotes  and 
matters  of  interest  connected  with 
the  prophet  should  be  searched  for 
and  placed  on  record  before  tho 
generation  that  knew  him  has  passed 
away.  On  one  of  these  occasions 
the  Church  librarian  at  Salt  Lake 
City  seconded  my  proposal  earnestly. 

'  But  what  is  the  use  of  it,  bro- 
ther Campbell,'  Apostle  Orson 
Pratt  replied  solemnly,  'since  we 
shall  have  brother  Joseph  among 
us  again  soon  ?  ' 

The  example  of  the  Evangelists 
was  urged  by  some  one  present. 
They  had  been  told  that  some 
among  them  *  should  not  see  death ' 
before  the  Saviour  reappeared,  yet 
thia  did  not  deter  them  &om  writ- 
ing the  Gospels. 

'  It  does  not  follow  that  because 
they  were  mistaken  we  shall  be 
also,'  was  the  answer,  *No:  bro- 
ther Joseph  will  be  amongst  us 
again,  at  least  in  our  children's 

There  was  a  general  agreement 
in  the  descriptions  given  me  of 
Joseph  Smithes  personal  appear- 
ance. He  seems  to  have  been  a 
large  man,  well  made,  of  an  un- 
usually muscular  development.  As 
a  young  man  he  was  the  great 
wrestler  of  the  district ;  and  he  was 
fond  of  showing  his  strength  after 
he  rose  to  his  sacred  dignity.  His 
complexion  was  singularly  transpa- 
rent, his  eyes  large  and  full,  and 
very  penetrating.  When  excited 
in  conversation  or  in  preaching 
his  £ftce  became  ^illuminated/  as 
Apostle  Q.  Cannon  expressed   it, 


The  Original  Prophet 


and  lie  would  say  things  'of  as- 
tonishing depth/  Ordinarily  his 
talk  was  qaiet  and  commonplace. 
His  manner  was  generally  sedate, 
bat  at  times  he  would  grow  *  buoy- 
ant and  playful  as  a  child.'  It  is 
.  said  that  ne  used  sometimes  to  get 
excited  with  drink.  It  is  not 
denied  that  he  had  a  strongly  sen- 
sual temperament.  No  one  who 
had  personally  known  him  would 
allow  to  me  that  he  had  a  specially 
religioua  or  nervous  organisation. 
His  was  no  brain  *  turned  by  rapt 
and  melancholy  musings.'  He  was 
no  religious  fanatic,  '^ey  insisted. 
'  All  was  calm  conTiction  and  assu- 

In  Mr.  J.  H.  Beadle's  Life  in 
Utah,  published  in  Philadelphia, 
1870,  one  of  the  most  moderate 
anti-Mormon  publications,  I  find  the 
following  characteristic  description 
of  the  prophet:  *He  was  full  of 
levity,  even  to  boyish  romping, 
dressed  like  a  dandy,  and  at  times 
drank  like  a  sailor,  and  swore  like 
a  pirate.  He  could,  as  occasion  re- 
quired, be  exceedingly  meek  in  his 
deportment,  and  then  again  rough 
and  boisterous  as  a  highway  robber ; 
being  always  able  to  satisfy  his 
followers  of  the  propriety  of  his 
conduct.  He  always  quailed  before 
power,  and  was  arrogant  to  weak- 
ness. At  times  he  could  put  on  the 
air  of  a  penitent,  as  if  feeling  the 
deepest  humiliation  for  his  sins,  and 
suffering  unutterable  anguish,  and 
indulging  in  the  most  gloomy  fore- 
bodinni  of  eternal  woe.  At  such 
times  ne  would  call  for  the  prayers 
of  his  brethren  in  his  behalr  with  a 
wild  and  fearful  energy  and  earnest- 
ness. He  was  full  six  feet  high, 
strongly  built,  and  uncommonly 
well  muscled.  No  doubt  he  was  as 
much  indebted  for  his  influence 
over  an  ignorant  people  to  the 
superiority  of  his  physical  vigour  as 
to  his  greater  cunning  and  intel- 

A  large  oil-painting  of  the  pro- 
phet is  carefulfy  preserved  in  Brig- 

ham  Young's  reception-room  at 
Salt  Lake.  No  malicious  report  of 
his  enemies  is  so  damning  to  Joseph 
Smith's  character  as  that  por- 
trait. The  face  is  large;  the  eyes 
big,  watery,  and  prominent;  the 
cheeks  puffy ;  the  upper  lip  long, 
the  lips  thick  and  senso